


Feathered Frenzy

by Triskellion



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, F/M, M/M, Pon Farr, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/pseuds/Triskellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know of those stories where the transporter sends Kirk or Spock careening into another universe where everything is weird? Well, this isn't one of those. No, this is the story where the transporter makes everything weird in its own universe. Though it skipped the gender-change trope. No, this is a new one. Add on sex, political negotiations, angry admirals, and an unexpected marriage and things get quite complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally a short response to [a prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/379.html?thread=1761403#t1761403) on the kink meme. The first few pages were originally posted there. But then it ballooned, and turned into the longest story I've ever written. 
> 
> I owe many people thanks for continuing to nudge and encourage me to finish over the last year and a half. gelsey has been my biggest supporter and loyal beta. nightshadow_t2 provided more encouragement and extra beta help. I also thank my writer's group for their suggestions and helping me realize just how badly Spock should be effected by his situation. And a double thanks to my artist and mixer for their lovely contributions.
> 
> I also owe thanks to haearnmouse for the use of her roses and their history. Na'k'diwa comes from [Precious Things: Legacy](http://haearnmouse.livejournal.com/31748.html) in her Precious Things series. She was kind enough to let me borrow it all.  
> As a final note, I used [the Vulcan Language Dictionary](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/) to choose and identify the spelling of most all the Vulcan words used in this story.
> 
> This was originally a Star Trek Big Bang story, so I netted art and a fanmix for my work. Do check them out.
> 
> **Link to Art:** [To the Art](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/64809.html) (Please note it is NC-17)  
>  **Link to Mix:** [To the Mix](http://inkstain.livejournal.com/398821.html)

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

Spock's first clue that there had been a problem with his transportation from Sardina III was the expression on Engineer Scott's face.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Scott?” Spock asked. He was on the transporter pad as expected, and he felt quite adequate.

“Um … it seems there may have been a wee hiccup with the transporter ...” Mr. Scott said, his eyes wide and his accent broader than usual.

“I noticed no complication with the transporter function.”

“Umm … behind ye.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock turned to look behind himself, catching an odd flash of white from the corner of his eye. Except, when he turned there was nothing there.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. I dinna know what coulda happened. I've never hearda somat like this happenin'.”

“Something like what?” Spock asked, turning back to face Mr. Scott.

“You've got wings,” Mr. Scott said, his voice filled with awe.

Spock turned again, this time simply rotating his head as far as he could to look behind himself, and spotted not just a glimpse of white but the edge of a feathered limb, which could well be attached to himself. “Perhaps I should visit Dr. McCoy while you review the transport logs for errors.”

“Aye.” Mr. Scott began frantically flipping switches and checking panels.

Walking down the corridor, Spock noted two things. First, there was definitely a change in his balance, forcing him to almost lean forward to keep from falling backwards. In fact, he was not certain how he had missed the difference when he first materialized. Second, the crew was not subtle about their surprise and curiosity about his new condition. The story of his appearance was spreading audibly through the corridors around him.

Everyone politely gave way to his passage, ensuring him plenty of room in the corridors despite the increasing crowd as other crewmen were contacted to “come see.” Spock did not know just how grateful he should have been for this, as inappropriate as the emotion might be for a Vulcan, until he arrived in Sickbay.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dr. McCoy bellowed as soon as Spock came into view. The doctor quickly came over and set a hand against Spock's right wing as if trying to prove the feathered appendages were not an illusion.

Spock was more than merely startled by the contact. His knees almost buckled under him at the intensity of the sensation, and he let out a grunt that was half moan as he winced away from Dr. McCoy's touch.

“Did that hurt?” Dr. McCoy asked worriedly.

“That is not precisely how I would describe the sensation,” Spock said in a strained voice.

Before Dr. McCoy could ask for clarification, Captain Kirk came bounding through the door.

“Good lord,” Captain Kirk cried out, eyes wide. “It's true. I thought Scotty was joking when he reported this.” Before Spock could ask him not to or Dr. McCoy could warn him, Captain Kirk stroked a hand down Spock's left wing.

Trapped between the two men, this time Spock swayed, gritting his teeth against the sounds the sensation sought to wring from him.

“Damn it, Jim, don't maul the man,” Dr. McCoy snapped.

“I didn't mean to hurt him,” Captain Kirk protested. But then he caught Spock's eyes and something he saw caused him to smirk. “And I don't think I did.”

“That does not mean the contact was welcome,” Spock said stiffly, stepping out from between the two men on shaky legs.

“Some might well appreciate an appendage like that,” Captain Kirk said, smirking still.

Dr. McCoy snorted. “You've got one, and you play with it plenty,” he snarked. “Commander, why don't you come over here and I'll run some tests.” He directed Spock over to a bed in a corner where no one could bump into him by accident.

~o0o~

Jim slunk out of Sickbay before Bones could throw him out. He'd clearly screwed up this time, but how was he supposed to know touching Spock's wings would do ... that? He'd just been curious, and maybe a bit worried. After all, it wasn't every day his First Officer suddenly grew wings. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Pausing at a comm panel in the hallway, Jim called Scotty. “Has anyone else come up from Sardina III?”

“No, Captain,” Scotty replied. “I've ordered 'em all ta stay put 'til we've finished at least a full diagnostic a the transporter system. The next person might end up with a beak.”

“That's an appalling thought,” Jim said. “Let me know when you finish that diagnostic.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jim signed off and continued on his way back to the Bridge. Whatever happened, Spock was lucky. It could have been worse. He was still alive, still functional. And yet ...

If it had been anyone else, if it had been Jim himself who ended up with wings, they'd be amused, excited. Especially wings that were so sensitive. He chuckled to himself. Sensitive was an understatement from Spock's reaction, or rather, the fact that Spock reacted at all. Bones would have to tie Jim down to get him to stop experimenting. It would be interesting to see how horny he could get himself just stroking his feathers. Was the reaction strong enough he could get himself off?

But what was Spock going to do with all that new play territory? Not much, most likely. Sure, Jim was pretty sure that Spock's relationship with Uhura was sexual as well as intellectual, but that didn't mean Spock was going to be at ease with all that excess sexual energy. In fact, he was likely to be one of the least comfortable of the whole ship's complement. It was probably too close to emotion for the half-Vulcan's peace of mind.

Jim sighed as he took his seat on the Bridge, a few hours early, but no one commented. As captain, he was responsible for the whole of his crew, but Spock was special. Jim had acknowledged that years ago, after he met a strange old Vulcan on Delta Vega. He wished he could help. Hell, he wished he could take Spock's place. Yes, partly because those wings would be fun, but mostly because he wanted to save his First Officer, his friend, from the difficulties and emotional turmoil this was sure to cause.

~o0o~

“I am functioning adequately,” Spock insisted yet again after a complete physical as well as every additional test the doctor could devise from the not inconsiderable medical equipment available on a Constitution-class starship. “Your tests have found no complications to my health due to the changes in my physiology so there is no reason for me to remain sequestered in Sickbay.”

“I've also found no explanation for why you suddenly have wings,” Dr. McCoy growled. “There could be other changes that have a delayed onset. You should stay here until we've fully identified your condition. Or at least until Engineering has some idea how this happened.”

“If I should notice any further changes to my condition, I would, of course, come to you immediately. In the mean time, I should return to my duties as these new appendages do not in any way inhibit me from performing them.”

Dr. McCoy huffed and sighed but gave in. Even with his veto powers as Chief Medical Officer, he had no reason to hold Spock. “Very well, but watch yourself carefully. I want to know about any changes. You'll stop in here for a checkup twice a day, before and after your shifts.” The words were clearly an order and not a suggestion.

“Of course, Doctor.” Spock escaped before the doctor could make any more demands, or any of the other Medical staff could intercept him as some of them looked quite interested in doing. He had less than an hour before he began his next duty shift on the, and Spock wanted a chance to privately explore the changes in his physiology before then.

He ignored the looks from the crewmen in the corridors with aplomb. Ignoring the occasional hand that reached out and brushed up against his new appendages took more effort, but he believed he had essentially succeeded in hiding the effect it had on him.

If his knees were a bit wobbly as he stepped into his quarters, well, no one else had to know.

Once in private, Spock moved immediately to the small mirror in his quarters. He had little used for the object on most days except to ensure he looked adequate before facing the crew, but today he appreciated its presence in his quarters. Finally he had a chance make his own observations regarding the changes to his physiology.

The wings extended from his back. His uniform tunic and undershirt had somehow been neatly slit or ripped around each joint with his back; changing his clothing would be difficult. The first wing joint rose above his head when the wings were folded back, and the primary feathers brushed the floor at his heels.

Stretching the wings out seemed awkward, his brain not naturally wired to control a third set of limbs, but he did manage, spreading them as far as was safe in the limited space of his cabin. A quick calculation indicated he did not have the necessary wingspan to lift someone of his dimensions and weight. He doubted as well that he had the appropriate musculature to even support a glide in a lighter gravity, though that might be possible to develop.

Bending, Spock was able to twist a section of his right wing around for closer observation. The feather barbs were white, but the shafts carried a greenish tint reminiscent of his blood color. The skin below them was thin, almost translucent over a complex network of muscles and veins, again tinted green with copper laden blood. Intrigued, Spock ran a hand along the feathers and gave in to the moan that had been building within him with every touch in the corridors.

Shocked anew by the intensity of the sensation, Spock's eyes rolled shut and his fingers tightened until the sensation shifted towards pain. With a gasp, he released the wing, drawing it back behind him, and leaned forward onto the dresser under the mirror. He was easily as aroused as he had ever been with Nyota and was quickly losing control of his physical reaction.

He had half an hour before his duty shift began, and it was tempting, so tempting, to take himself in hand and relieve the sexual tension building within him. He had become quite adept at doing so quickly since he had reached an unexpected human sexual maturity at seventeen years, three months, and six days of age.

Looking into the mirror as he considered the idea, something in him rebelled. He was Vulcan first and human second, an orientation he had been struggling to maintain for his entire life. He might have lacked the proper control when his sexual maturity arrived, and sometimes allowed his relationship with Nyota to be an alternative outlet, but today he had control. He would master his physical reactions and prove he was Vulcan, if only to himself.

He had half an hour, and he would spend it in meditation, firming up his control in a Vulcan manner. He would calm and center himself to retain his control in the hours to come.

He quickly lit a candle for a focus, but it took a few minutes to find a position where he could relax and keep his wings comfortable. It was a delicate balance, but he did succeed. If he fell into a meditative trance with a sigh of relief, well, no one was listening to notice.

~o0o~

Spock strode onto the Bridge exactly on time, relieved to have retained that much control over his life. He could not deny, however, that it was also a relief to get away from the brushing hands in the corridor. Even fresh out of meditation it was getting difficult to retain control over his reactions to those touches. This was a matter for concern.

Captain Kirk shot Spock a concerned look, which was a change from the variations of shock, surprise, and amusement in the eyes of every other crewman he had passed in the corridors and were now on the faces of the crew on the Bridge. Even Nyota looked far too intrigued for his comfort. The captain's reaction was an almost pleasant contrast. Spock nodded to his captain and ignored everyone else, retreating to his station where he would not have to see those eyes watching him.

The seat at his station was not as comfortable when sitting sideways, but the back impinged on his wings if he sat normally. It was, in fact, easier to stand and lean over his work station. Sitting caused his wings to rest partly on the ground unless he let them spread. Either was a distraction, the former due to the sensation of the sensitive appendages brushing against the deck and the latter because he became a traffic hazard to other crewmen. However, the others on the Bridge seemed willing to work around him with a minimum of discussion, which he appreciated.

The time on the Bridge might have actually gone smoothly for the entire duty shift if not for the actions of Yeoman Rand. She came in to have Captain Kirk sign some paperwork as she was wont to do several times every shift, every day. Unfortunately, she did not retreat immediately as she usually did, instead stepping up behind Spock and running one hand along the edge of his partly outstretched wing.

As Spock had not been paying attention to Yeoman Rand's movements, he was unprepared for the sensation of her fingers on his feathers. His moan echoed around the Bridge.

“Yeoman Rand!” Captain Kirk reacted far before Spock could collect himself to protest.

Unfortunately, in her surprise at the captain's yell, Yeoman Rand was not careful as she turned about, brushing bodily against Spock's wing as she rotated. This time Spock muffled the worse of his audible reaction but had to hunch over his console, both to keep himself on his feet and to hide the physical reaction he could no longer prevent.

“Captain?” Yeoman Rand said sheepishly as she stepped away from Spock, finally.

“You are aware that it is considered poor manners to touch a Vulcan without invitation?” Captain Kirk asked, radiating his disapproval.

“Yes ...” Yeoman Rand squeaked.

“Then why do you think it appropriate to touch Commander Spock without his permission just because a transporter malfunction has slapped some unusual appendages onto him?”

“I … I ...”

“A Vulcan is a touch-telepath with or without wings,” Captain Kirk snapped.

“I'm sorry.”

Captain Kirk glared at the young woman he usually flirted outrageously with, then glanced pointedly at Spock before returning his eyes to her.

Yeoman Rand turned to Spock and squeaked again, “I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have done that.”

“Then do not do it again,” Spock suggested. He looked at her, remaining as impassive as he could manage under the circumstances. Unfortunately, he knew he had not reigned in the flush that had filled his cheeks completely and he was still hunching over to hide his physical reaction.

“Perhaps you should remind your friends the proper courtesy Starfleet taught you all,” Captain Kirk suggested pointedly. “Dismissed.”

Yeoman Rand departed with a squeak and a panicked look, all but running from the Bridge. Spock caught Captain Kirk's eye, raising an eyebrow in question, but the captain just looked disgruntled and turned back to the main screen.

~o0o~

“Captain, orders coming in from Starfleet,” Uhura announced into the shuffle of a Bridge shift change.

“Let's hear it, Lieutenant,” Jim ordered.

The message was piped to the speaker in the arm of his chair. “Captain Kirk, the Delgasian society has finally set a date for the investiture of their new planetary leader,” said the familiar, if unwelcome tones of Admiral Komack. “They have requested the presence of the Enterprise at the ceremonies, specifically the heroes of the battle with Nero. You are ordered to be in the Delgasian system in ten days for the beginning ceremony and stay through the trade negotiations after ritual finishes on the sixth day. Komak out.”

Jim glared at the speaker. He'd been expecting orders like that to show up soon, but that didn't mean he appreciate their arrival just now. He glanced over at Spock, his large white wings a reminder that the transporters weren't safe to use and there was a landing party on the planet they orbited. Knowing Jim's luck, even with these new orders they would still be expected to provide complete reports on the planetary survey.

“Captain,” Spock said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the Bridge again. “At warp five, we are seven point two eight days from the Delgasian system.”

“How long will your teams need to finish the planetary survey if they hurry?” Jim asked.

“That depends on whether the transporters are functional,” Spock said. “However, if limited to shuttle transportation, I believe another forty-two point three hours will be enough time to collect data and samples for a complete report for Starfleet if the analysis is done on the journey to the Delgasian system.”

Jim nodded. That could work. He tapped the comm button on the arm of his chair, calling Transporter Room Three. “Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, Captain,” Scotty replied quickly, if gruffly.

“Scotty, what's the word with the transporter?” Jim asked.

“I have no idea wha' happened,” Scotty growled. “I've checked the transporter logs, but they dinna show any anomalies. Everyone transported down just fine, but Mr. Spock came back with wings. I canna even begin to give ye an explanation now.”

“Is it safe to transport the rest of the landing party up?” Jim asked.

“I dinna think so, Captain,” Scotty said. “I recommend usin' shuttle craft for all transportation 'til we sort this out. I also suggest we use full decontamination procedures until we identify if i' was somethin' down there tha' caused this.”

“Those do sound like logical precautions,” Spock interjected.

“All right, do it,” Jim ordered. “The orders just came in on the Delgasian investiture. We have to be on the move in less than three days. Keep that in mind while you work”

“Will do, Captain,” Scotty promised before closing the comm line.

“Mr. Spock, you'd better inform your science teams of the new timeline and limitations,” Jim said. Looking over at his first officer startled him yet again, those great big wings overshadowing the features that usually stood out to Jim.

“With your permission, Captain, I will head to the laboratories now and begin preparations for decontamination and storage of the specimens for delayed analysis.”

“Permission granted.”

~o0o~

Spock visited Sickbay as ordered, only an hour after his shift on the Bridge ended. He did not do so by preference. There was still much to be done with the science teams. However, Spock knew better than to ignore one of the doctor's orders completely. He had observed the consequences Captain Kirk suffered many times.

“Do you intend to repeat every test you performed previously?” Spock asked. He was struggling with a surprising degree of irritation and his tone was faintly petulant. Unacceptable.

“The only way I can tell if there are any other side effects of your little accident is to check everything at regular intervals,” Dr. McCoy replied, quite logically. Spock was uncertain how that interpretation had escaped him. His lack of emotional control was fogging his logic in a most unpleasant manner.

Spock stiffed a sigh, and then a groan as Dr. McCoy brushed against a wing on his circuit with the tricorder.

“Huh. That got a hell of a hormone spike,” Dr. McCoy commented. There was an almost gleeful look in his eyes as he studied the readout before him.

“That is to be expected,” Spock replied tightly. “I am not yet used to the effects of such contact so I have not yet adjusted to regulating them.” It was a nice theory. Hopefully it would prove true, rather than finding out his control was so weak that he could no longer control his body.

“Explain,” Dr. McCoy demanded.

“Vulcans have an ability to manage their bodily systems that is much more exact that that of Humans,” Spock said, taking comfort in being able to simply state facts. “This allows us greater control over our emotions, our physical reactions, and our healing.”

“Like when you went into some kind of healing trance after being injured on Corenth II last year?” The doctor had a light in his eyes that Spock had come to recognize as a joy of learning. Despite their differences, their fondness for learning was something they shared.

“Correct,” Spock replied. “I am experienced in moderating my hormone levels and … the various factors that affect my arousal. These wings are a new factor that I have yet to learn to moderate.”

“Huh,” Dr. McCoy said, his lips quirking up in amusement. “So we finally found something else to ruffle that stolid exterior of yours. I have to say, I like this reaction better than mindless rage.”

Spock closed his eyes, feeling a sense of rising warmth that accompanied the memories of his attack on Captain Kirk during their first mission. The captain had been right to show Spock how emotionally compromised he had become. Spock was quite ashamed of his illogical actions that day and had been unable to fully eradicate that reaction in the years since.

“Welcome to the human race,” Dr. McCoy said jovially, slapping Spock on the shoulder, this time missing the wing. “Just accept there's more to you than that Vulcan exterior.”

“Unlikely,” Spock intoned, his voice flat even for his usual diction. “If you are done?”

“All right, but get some rest,” Dr. McCoy said. “Consider yourself on light duty while you adjust.” It seemed he recognized that he had pushed as far as was safe for tonight. Sometimes Spock wondered what his other self's relationship with his Dr. McCoy had been like. His own situation was quite irritating enough.

Spock left, deciding there was no point in arguing. Dr. McCoy did have a point, but he would be insufferable if Spock said as much. Spock strode quickly through the crowded corridors towards his quarters, deciding rest and meditation was the best course. He had no intention of going anywhere near a place as full as the recreation rooms and cafeterias at the present, and the Science laboratories had been more crowded than he appreciated though he had much to do. Tomorrow would be soon enough. His only relief was that the rumor of what the captain had said on the Bridge must have percolated through the crew as far fewer hands were reaching out to brush against his wings. The tension in his gut when he arrived in his rooms, however, did remind him that fewer was not none at all.

He was attempting again to meditate when the chime on his door rang. He stifled the human urge to sigh in frustration and touched the door release as he blew out the candle and carefully maneuvered to his feet without tangling himself in his new appendages. His emotions were becoming noticeably more volatile, which only added to his frustration with the whole situation.

“Spock?”

Spock felt an odd twinge in his stomach when he heard Nyota's soft tones. “Lieutenant. How may I assist you?” he asked, then ordered the computer to decrease the temperature to a more comfortable level for her human anatomy.

She looked shyly at him as she stepped into his quarters and let the doors shut behind her. “Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. My mother was rather fond of handcrafting, and I learned to be a fair seamstress as a child. I thought you might appreciate some assistance modifying some shirts ... just to last you until they can fix what happened.”

Spock considered that this was an acceptable reason for her intrusion. “That would be of assistance. I had not yet decided how to deal with the clothing complications developing from my condition.” He hadn't really even thought about it yet. Odd.

“Well I observed the back of your uniform while we were on duty,” Nyota said, stepping closer. “I think two hemmed slits to the top of the wings and some kind of closures at the bottom, so you can slip it on over your head and then close the gap.”

“That does sound like a logical solution,” Spock agreed. He found it necessary to resist the urge to step away. Perhaps he was reacting to the constant touching of those who had come so close in the corridors.

“I could use the uniform you’re wearing now as a pattern,” Nyota suggested, stepping behind him. “I think we'll have to cut this one off you, though. The openings aren't large enough to fit around your wings anywhere but where they meet with your back.”

“Agreed. I have a knife on the table, if you would be willing to assist me.” It was nominally a ceremonial knife, one of the few to survive the destruction of Vulcan, but it was sharp, close, and Spock was finding himself irrationally eager to do something productive in regards to his new condition.

Nyota was quick to cut both shirts free, her hands never actually touching him, much to his relief. He had known there was nothing to be concerned about in relation to her. She stepped back as he removed the cloth, looking at him with a studious gaze. “They are very sensitive?” she said thoughtfully, her words part question and part statement.

“Perhaps it is the complex system of nerves necessary for their control that makes them so,” Spock said by way of an answer. He found he had no more desire to discuss the sensitivity of his wings with her than any other crew mate.

“How are you dealing with the crew's reaction? They are likely to continue to be curious beyond the bounds of proscribed behavior.”

Spock considered her words for a moment before replying. “I will survive,” he finally said, intentionally choosing a human style phrase. Survival was the only logical option.

“If I can ever help ...” She let the words trail off. Her voice was laden with innuendo and promise, but also a bit of concern. He appreciated the concern, at least from her, though he had a feeling it would _get old_ shortly, to borrow a phrase from the captain. However, his appreciation was canceled out by his irritation that she would propose a liaison now. Spock was still determined to manage his own body in this and had no intention of allowing her to suggest other options.

“Right now, assisting me with procuring shirts that I can wear is more than adequate,” Spock assured her. He did appreciate her offer, and another day he might accept, but not tonight.

He reached out a hand to cup her cheek. He knew the action would reassure her that her proposal was not completely unwelcome. He had been slowly learning such subtle actions that would reassure her of his feelings without his having to express them in a manner completely counter to Vulcan logic. However, right now he found himself also curious about her emotional state and the contact allowed him to check. She was concerned, as he had suspected, but he did not like the level of curiosity she felt about his wings. His audible reaction to Yeoman Rand's touch on the Bridge had aroused her. He did not realize she had been so unsatisfied by his stoicism during their coupling.

The door chime gave Spock an excuse to drop his arm before his discomfort could become evident. “Come in,” he called.

Captain Kirk appeared in the doorway, his arms full of a tray of food. “If I'm interrupting, I can come back,” he said, smirking broadly in the manner Spock was coming to identify as teasing.

“Not at all, Captain,” Spock assured him blandly even as Nyota's cheeks flushed slightly.

“I thought you might not want to deal with the crowds in the cafeteria,” Captain Kirk said, holding up the tray. “Thought we might discuss a few things too, but if you two want this I can find my own supper.”

“No, Captain, that's all right. I was just leaving,” Nyota said, much to Spock's relief. “If I could have another one or two of your shirts, Commander, I'll see how quickly I can modify them.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Spock waved the captain in and walked into his bedroom where he retrieved two blue uniform shirts and two black thermal undershirts. Once he handed the shirts over, Nyota left quickly with only the shortest of polite goodbyes. Even so, by the time she was gone Captain Kirk had set up the contents of his tray on Spock's table. Spock was surprised to note all the dishes were vegetarian. The captain was not usually so courteous.

“I can go,” Captain Kirk offered again after the door shut behind Nyota.

“That is not necessary, Captain,” Spock assured him, though he was struggling on one level to ignore the fact that he was standing before his superior officer in less than full dress. He had to ignore it because presently he had no other shirt he could successfully wear. It was odd that it would bother him so much now as they had interacted in a state of incomplete dress on more than on occasion when the captain had not be careful about properly securing the door of the facilities they shared. Today, however, he was also ignoring the intensifying feeling of warmth in the pit of his stomach. It was rather different from the twinge Nyota had elicited. However, he saw no reason to dwell on illogical sensations. He turned the chair at one end of the table sideways and sat. “You said there were matters you wished to discuss.”

Captain Kirk claimed the seat across from Spock with a nervous look in his eyes. “I mostly wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“Was there some sign while I was on duty that I was not functioning adequately?” Spock asked, hiding his own concern under the Vulcan calm he had worked so hard to cultivate his whole life.

“No, not at all,” Captain Kirk said, waving his hand as though trying to physically wave away that concern. Spock resisted an unusual urge to pin the appendage in place. “You performed admirably, same level as always even with the added … distractions. I just ...”

Spock interrupted, believing he had ascertained his captain's point of concern. “You are worried about my emotional state.”

“Pretty much,” Captain Kirk admitted sheepishly. “I know you Vulcans don't like to admit to having them, but we both know that under adverse enough circumstances they can be a factor.”

Spock lost control enough to let his brow furrow, which did not bode well for a welcome answer to the question that followed. “Are you implying that you think me emotionally compromised by the current situation?”

“Not at all,” Captain Kirk said quickly. “Look, I'm sorry for touching you in Medical, and for what I said. And I'm sorry for the way the crew is acting. Anyone would have a hard enough time adjusting to suddenly having wings, but to have them be so sensitive, and everyone touching … I just want you to know that if there's any way I can help ...”

“I … appreciate your words, both now and earlier on the Bridge,” Spock said gravely, surprised by how much the words did mean to him. “However, I will adjust to this, for as long as it should prove to be necessary. I trust that Mr. Scott will find the problem soon enough.”

“I just hope he can fix it … fix you … when he does,” Captain Kirk muttered, looking down at his own hands clasped on the table.

“That is my hope as well,” Spock admitted. “Until then, the crew will likely behave better once the novelty wears off.” He hoped.

“I could talk to them, make some kind of announcement,” Captain Kirk offered.

“That is not necessary,” Spock said. “I am certain the trend will decrease soon.”

“All right, Spock.”

“Was there anything else you wanted?”

Captain Kirk shook his head. “No … No, I just wanted to check up on you. Bones says you're healthy as far as his scans can tell, and Scotty is working like mad to figure out what happened. The away team is bringing back samples of everything for Scotty and the science crew to look over.”

“Then I believe I will spend the time until my next duty cycle in meditation.”

Captain Kirk stood quickly. “Of course. Don't let me interrupt further.”

It was not until Captain Kirk had been gone five minutes, five minutes Spock spent staring at the closed doors, that Spock realized neither of them had eaten anything.

Well, he could always have something later. “Computer, set environmental to Vulcan standard plus two.” Right now, he just was not hungry. Candle lit, he settled in the middle of the floor, his wings spread for the right balance, and meditated.  


[Chapter Two](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78026.html)


	2. Chapter 2

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 1](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/77669.html)

 

When the chime of the door disturbed his meditation, Spock found himself disoriented. He knew he was in his quarters, but his time sense was disjointed. He should be aware of the time. He always knew the exact passage of time. Except now, he had no idea how long he had been meditating.

It took a moment to sort out the extra limbs and rise to his feet. He would never admit to the near fall he took half way up. With eyes that felt oddly gummy and a mind that felt far too leaden for the length of time he had been meditating, Spock stumbled to his desk and hit the button that would open the doors.

His eyes were fixed on the chronometer he never used as the doors opened, letting the warm air of his quarters escape. He had one hour before his shift began on the Bridge. And he still had to meet with Dr. McCoy. How had he so lost track of time?

“Spock?” Nyota's soft voice came from the corridor. He saw a pile of blue and black fabric in her arms. “Are you all right?”

“I am adequate,” he said. Not a lie, per say. “Were your endeavors successful?”

“Quite.” A smile lit up her face as she finally entered the room. “Computer, temperature settings to Federation Standard. At least I think so.” She held out a black thermal shirt. “Why don't you try this one and make sure.”

Spock repressed a shiver as the ship quickly decreased the temperature in his quarters and accepted the shirt with a small sense of relief. Pulling the shirt over his head, the loose flap of fabric in the back slid between his wings with a minimum of distracting sensation. Reaching behind himself he found the seals at the waist were easy to manage. “Acceptable.”

Something in her expression changed, but Spock could not identify exactly what in his still muddled state. “I'm glad,” she said simply, offering a blue shirt and setting the other two shirts on his table. “Now that you're decent, would you join me for breakfast?”

“I am afraid that is not possible,” he said, quickly settling the blue shirt over the thermal. The seals under his wings worked just as smoothly, and did not bulk too badly against his feathers.

“Why? We have an hour, and we always have breakfast ...”

“I must visit Dr. McCoy before my shift.” Spock took a quick glance in the mirror to ensure his hair looked adequate. “I have already delayed far more than I should have.” He did not mention, though he thought of it, that he would have felt quite improper walking through the corridors without a shirt of any kind.

He moved quickly to the door but paused as it slid open, remembering his mother's lessons on human etiquette. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated,” he said, turning back to look at Nyota and nod formally. Then he left.

~o0o~

“Lieutenant Uhura really came through on the sewing,” Jim commented as he and Spock left the Bridge the next day. Except for the wings, from the front Spock's uniform looked unchanged.

“She did acceptable work,” Spock replied.

Jim turned to his first officer with a raised eyebrow. “Just acceptable?” he said archly. “I'd say that rather undervalues her.”

“How would you prefer I describe the situation?” Spock asked. His voice was oddly stressed on the second word, and Jim caught sight of a crewman passing by with his hand outstretched. The captain glared at the enlisted man until he looked appropriately sheepish.

“That she did good work, exceptional work, above and beyond the call of duty,” Jim said, waving his hands widely with each additional description. But he kept his hands carefully away from Spock. He didn't want to be the cause of Spock enduring any further stress. The rest of the crew being unable to keep their hands to themselves in the corridors was bad enough.

“If you say, then it must be so,” Spock replied dryly.

Jim chuckled. “Cute.”

Spock turned his head, his eyebrow raised to 'query' level. “I do not understand your amusement. It was an accurate statement in relation to human expression. You are far more experienced in such things than myself.” There was that odd stress again. Jim glared around the corridor for a moment before processing Spock's words

“You … you,” Jim stuttered. One of these days he was going to get Spock to admit to his dry wit. The half-Vulcan understood humanisms far more often than he admitted, Jim was certain. “Bones still determined to turn you into a living pin cushion?” he asked, changing the subject since he knew Spock wasn't going to be making any such admissions today.

“I am uncertain as to the accuracy of your colloquialisms,” Spock said, “but he does require I return for a full physical twice a day.”

Jim winced. Bones had been required to hunt Jim down with a hypo of sedative in order to rope him into his last two physicals. He wasn't quite sure why he hated them so much since he spent plenty of time in Sickbay for injuries, but hate them he did. Twice a year was bad enough. Jim would be going mad at twice a day. “Let me know if you need me to order him to back off,” he offered.

“Dr. McCoy outranks even you in medical matters, Captain,” Spock pointed out.

“For the sake of your mental health, I'll challenge even Bones,” Jim said, slapping Spock lightly on the shoulder before leaving him at the door to Sickbay. Jim felt bad leaving Spock to face Sickbay alone, but he also didn't want to be nearby when the doors opened. There was always a chance Bones would decide to drag Jim in for something.

~o0o~

Spock was more inclined to accept the captain's offer to talk to Dr. McCoy for him, illogical though it was to think the captain could do anything on the matter, by the time he escaped from Sickbay. While the process of completing each physical was becoming quicker as he and Dr. McCoy developed a rhythm for the tests, it was still unpleasant. Doubly so because there was nothing to report after each session. Spock was in perfect health, just as he had been before the transporter malfunction.

If Spock had let himself, he could have been quite irritated with the doctor's continued insistence on tests. He understood there was a logical reason to continue, but that did not mean he actually desired to visit Sickbay twice daily. Especially since the doctor was highly amused by the new chinks in Spock's emotional control and was more than happy to dig at them each time they met.

Another irritant was that the percentage of passing crewmen making contact with his wings was higher on the walk from Sickbay than it had been walking to Sickbay. The only variable that Spock could identify as different was the captain's presence. That the percentage had also been higher walking from his quarters to the Bridge before his shift than after it seemed to confirm the hypothesis that Captain Kirk's presence limited the actions of the crew in the corridors. Fascinating.

The feeling of arousal pooling, yet again, in his stomach at each flash of sensation through his wings was far less fascinating.

Spock would have been more than happy to escape the crew completely, though he had not, and would not, admit as much to the doctor. However, he still had duties to perform. Though he had not told the doctor that when he left Sickbay. There was much to be done if they were to be ready to leave orbit of Sardina III on schedule.

The isolation and decontamination protocols were well laid out and preparations did not require his observation. This evening he headed to Stellar Cartography, to check on the observations of Sardina, the local star. It had a unique spectrum that had kept the science team busy for weeks before their arrival. Several of Spock's personal hypotheses had been confirmed since he last checked in and he was preparing the sensors to check another when he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

The hand, and the body it was attached to, were placed at an angle to avoid his wings, which he appreciated. However, few of the crew were willing to brave his personal space under normal circumstances, and this usually held true even now, as long as he was not in the corridors. That meant that this was most likely either Nyota or Captain Kirk.

“How may I assist you, Lieutenant?” he asked once he identified the dark skin of Nyota from the corner of his eye.

“You weren't in your quarters,” Nyota said. A tray with two vegetarian entrees moved into his peripheral vision. “I brought dinner since you skipped lunch.”

“I appreciate your assistance, Lieutenant,” which was not quite a lie, “but I am not hungry at this time.” This was also not a lie. Curious.

The fingers on his shoulder tightened to an uncomfortable degree, and Spock turned to look at Nyota. Her brow was furrowed and she looked displeased about something. This assessment was confirmed when she spoke next, this time speaking in Vulcan rather than Federation Standard.

“Our breakfasts together have become irregular, and it has been two weeks since we had dinner together,” she snapped, her temper blurring her usually crisp accent. “I accepted that you were busy preparing for this mission, but that does not explain why we have had such limited relations for as long as we have.”

“I do not understand your concern,” Spock admitted, replying in Vulcan. He knew that some of the science team knew Vulcan, but be believed none were on shift at this time.

“We haven't had sex in two months,” Nyota said, her eyes flashing. “You won't even slow down and have dinner with me now, even though you should be on light duty since the accident.”

“The transporter malfunction has not inhibited my ability to perform my duties in any way,” Spock corrected.

Nyota's hand moved from his shoulder and brushed lightly against his feathers. Spock could not refrain from flinching away from her touch and letting out a small hiss. It took a moment to smooth his features from the frown that developed as he tried to analyze her intentions.

“You are not yourself,” Nyota said.

“And yet you seem quite interested in me behaving so,” Spock snapped back before he could restrain himself. He could still recall the feelings he had received when he touched her last night. Her feelings of curiosity mixed with arousal were quite vivid in his memory. He was displeased to note that her touch, though over feathers rather than directly to skin, had informed him that, despite their current argument, she was still quite aroused at the idea of spending time with him like this.

Her eyes widened and her hand moved completely away from him, much to his relief. “So I'm curious,” she said. “A lot of people are. But I'm the one you're dating. Why shouldn't I be curious?”

“I am not here to slake your curiosity,” he replied. He buried his displeasure deep, but something else was forcing its way to the surface. “I apologize that our relationship has suffered in recent weeks. We have both been busy. I was under the impression that such lapses were expected when we both accepted posts aboard the Enterprise.” She looked away at that comment, her cheeks darkening with a rush of blood. “I had expected that you knew me well enough to understand that in this particular instance I would wish to deal with the situation on my own, so I did not express so explicitly. Consider this occasion my correction of that error.”

It felt as though a bubble were building in his chest, pushing aside the organs that usually lived there in a sharply painful manner. The last time Spock had felt this way, the bubble had burst and he had almost strangled Captain Kirk on the Bridge. This time, Spock stood and strode from the room. Better the rudeness of an unexpected departure than risking another such emotional show.

~o0o~

Jim bounced into the transporter room that had caused Spock so much trouble. He had tried Engineering first, but the crew there had told him Scotty was overseeing the work personally. “So, what has my miracle worker discovered?” Jim called playfully. He could be formal when he had to, but Scotty seemed to appreciate a lighter note between them when those of higher rank weren't around to disapprove. After all they endured the day they met, let alone the years since, Jim considered Scotty as much a friend as a crew mate.

Unfortunately, today it seemed Scotty was in no mood to play after all. “Nothing,” he snarled, looking as though he were ready to throw a punch at the wall panels. 

Actually stopping to look, Jim noticed four engineers digging into the computers and wiring embedded in the room's walls. They were the four best transportation engineers Scotty had been able to beg, bribe, and steal from the other ships in the Fleet.

“The logs are clean,” Scotty said. “We're tearing the physical systems apart for a connection by connection check now, bu' tha' could take two days ta finish.”

“Two days?” Jim protested.

“It's no' a simple system, Captain,” Scotty countered, his finger beginning to beat a tattoo on the console beside him.

“What if it's not the wiring?” Jim asked, his eyes drawing to the rhythmically tapping finger.

“Then we check the programs from the top down,” Scotty replied.

“How long?”

“Unless we find somethin' obvious, five or six days, minimum.”

It took a minute, but Jim finally recognized the beats as matching that of the old air, “the Scottish Soldier.” Scotty had introduced the command crew to traditional Scottish piping over the last years when the journey had been slow. If Scotty was tapping out traditional war songs,the situation was worse than he'd imagined. “And if it wasn't the transporter alone?”

“Could be weeks.” Scotty spat out the words as though they felt as nasty in his mouth as they felt in Jim's ears.

Jim let out a deep sigh. “The Delgasians are going to love that. They hate allowing shuttles to land.” Of course, that wasn't Jim's real first concern. He was worried about Spock. But Spock wasn't his only responsibility. At least Bones said things were looking good. Dragging the mantle of captainship back over his shoulders, Jim said, “Do what you have to,” and slapped Scotty supportively on the shoulder. “Just keep me in the loop.”

“Aye, Captain.”

~o0o~

Arriving at his quarters was an indescribable relief to Spock. The random reaches for his wings as he traveled through the corridors had added to his emotional turmoil rather than allowing him to sooth his mind as he needed.

As he had noticed with Nyota, he was receiving more and more telepathic insight with each contact made to his wings. Therefore, besides the increased arousal he was restraining constantly, Spock was also struggling to sort through and repress a strange collection of stray thoughts. 

Apparently the crew found his wings either arousing, symbolically sacred, or sometimes both. Additionally, the medical crewmen were tracking an odd STD outbreak amongst the Engineering crew, the science ensigns were gossiping about a romantic triangle, and several members of the security staff were concerned about their promotion chances.

Spock lit his fire pot. He would meditate until he had settled all these extraneous thoughts and emotions and dealt with his own. He should report his increasing emotional state to Dr. McCoy as a side effect of the transporter malfunction. However, he did not wish to. The doctor had been annoying enough to date that Spock had no desire to feed the man additional ammunition. The problem would likely subside within the next few days as Spock learned to manage his new appendages.

Of course it would subside.

It had to.

~o0o~ 

“You're hormone levels are getting higher,” Dr. McCoy said the next morning. He was glaring at his tricorder as though the machinery were somehow at fault.

Rather than respond quickly, Spock took a deep breath and let it out slowly first. He had found this technique helped him retain emotional control as a child. He was distressed to be so far out of control to need to use it again, but his meditations last night had not helped him as much as he had hoped. “From what you have said, they are within Vulcan standard fluctuations,” Spock finally said.

“And you've had days like this,” Dr. McCoy admitted. “But the numbers have been climbing every time I check, rather than the usual random fluctuations.”

“You have never taken twice daily readings of my hormone levels,” Spock said. “How can you know they do not normally climb for a few days before dropping back off?”

Dr. McCoy harrumphed but set the tricorder down. “I'll ignore it for now, but I don't like it. You sure you haven't noticed anything unusual?”

Closing his eyes, Spock fought off a blush that threatened to stain his ears green. “Given the crew's behavior since the transporter malfunction, I am not surprised to be experiencing a higher level of arousal.”

“Don't like hearing they're that bad,” Dr. McCoy said. “They should have gotten over it by now.”

“It has been forty-nine point three hours since the malfunction,” Spock said. “Given the size of the crew and the number of hours I spend on duty or in my quarters, it is conceivable that there are still several members of the crew who have not taken the opportunity to touch.”

“You saying you think this is almost over?”

“Essentially.”

“Hope you're right.”

Spock did not express just how much he held the same hope.

[Chapter 3](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78157.html)


	3. Feathered Frenzy - Chapter 3

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 2](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78026.html)

“Captain, the shuttle craft Galileo reports it has docked successfully,” Chekov reported.

Jim let out a mental sigh of relief. Wouldn't do to show the crew that he was worried, but the Galileo was the last one up from Sardina III, a full thirty minutes ahead of Spock's estimate two days ago. They had plenty of time to make it to the Delgasian system. “Full decon for the Galileo and its cargo,” he ordered.

“Already underway,” Spock answered. When Jim turned his head he was once again surprised by the spray of white feathers that extended from his first officer's back. When he wasn't looking, it was hard to remember that anything had changed. Spock seemed just as focused and efficient as ever, idiots in the corridors notwithstanding. But when he did look, Jim couldn't seem to see anything else for at least a minute.

“Excellent,” Jim said. “Set course for the Delgasian system, warp five, Mr. Sulu.” Not that Jim was really looking forward to making nice with the soon to be invested Dergin of the Delgasians. He hated playing politician. Oh well, at least chances were no one would get hurt on this mission, not with all the other groups who were sending representatives. And they might have a chance to get one over on the Klingons.

“Warp five, aye,” Sulu replied. It took him only a moment to finalize the course he and Chekov had input earlier. Then the lever went up and the Enterprise leapt forward, the stars becoming long lines in the view screen.

“Captain, I would like to oversee the unloading of the specimens from Sardina III,” Spock said.

“Of course, Mr. Spock. I think we can live without you on the Bridge for a bit,” Jim said lightly. This time he expected the wings when he looked at his first officer, but not the odd feeling of warmth in his stomach when he caught Spock's brown eyes looking back. Huh. That was unusual.

Jim didn't have much of a chance to analyze things before Spock strode to the turbo lift, his wings rustling slightly with each step.

~o0o~

Spock carefully observed the decontamination procedures and discussed the quarantine protocols used by those inside the shuttle craft before they were permitted to leave the shuttle bay. He was pleased with their excellent adherence to protocol. In fact, he was about to return to the Bridge when the team xenobiologist, Lieutenant JocelynHan, approached him.

“Commander Spock, I would like to take some recordings of your wings,” Lieutenant Han requested. “I studied several of the avian species on Sardina III ...”

“And you wish to observe if there are any similarities between my wing structures and those you observed on the planet,” Spock finished for her.

“Correct,” Lieutenant Han said. “If it is possible that something from the planet is the cause of your transformation, those similarities would be a clue.”

Spock saw the logic of her request. He could not deny that. Unfortunately, he also could not deny how very little he wanted anyone poking around near his wings. Retaining his control when touched was becoming harder with time, not easier. But it was a logical request, and he was a Vulcan. “Very well,” Spock said. “Where do you wish to perform your examination?”

“The Xenobiology Lab will have the equipment I need.”

~o0o~

Lieutenant Han needed some time to set up the required equipment when they arrived in the Xenobiology Lab. Spock took the available time to try and prepare himself for the necessity of contact.

He was not successful.

A moan rang through the room the first time Lieutenant Han touched him. Hands clenched, he hung his head and struggled to hold on while she continued in a brisk and efficient manner. His only comfort was that she was wearing some kind of glove that prevented any telepathic bleed over.

“I apologize,” Lieutenant Han said, her actions never stopping. “I will complete all tests that require contact as quickly as I can.” Her hands traced the muscles and veins in his wings.

Fire was running through Spock's veins, starting in his wings and surging through his other limbs before pooling in his core. He was fully aroused, physically and mentally.

“I'm almost done, Commander,” Lieutenant Han said, though not soon enough. “I just need a feather sample. I know that won't be easy for you, but may I?”

Spock sucked in a pained breath at the very thought, but nodded.

“All right, I've selected the feather.”

The vibration of her grip ran through his right wing and made Spock's penis harden and throb in a most distracting manner.

“Removing now.”

Biting his lip, Spock managed to refrain from making any noise. However, he did not refrain from reacting to the sharp surge of pleasure/pain that washed through him. For over a minute after the removal of the feather, it was all he could do to stay on his feet with the residual sensation washing through him in waves.

“Commander, are you all right?” Lieutenant Han was directly in front of him when Spock managed to open his eyes, fortunately not touching him at all. It was only when her eyes flickered down that he realized his pants were damp and quickly cooling.

“Under the circumstances, I am quite adequate,” Spock replied. He was displeased by how shaky his voice sounded.

“I'm so sorry, Commander. I never intended ...”

“It was necessary,” Spock interrupted. “If you have all you require, I should return to my quarters before returning to the Bridge.”

As he turned to leave, he realized the feather in her hand, the one she was gently stroking as though it were the softest thing in the world, was his.

~o0o~

Spock wanted to return to his quarters. He needed time to re-center himself before returning to duty. His relations with Nyota had never shattered him so completely, physically or emotionally. However, it was going to take far too long too return to his quarters in his current state, and require passing far too many crewmen. Sickbay was closer.

Nurse Chapel was in the main room when Spock stepped through the doors. She took one look at him and pointed to one of the private rooms at the back. “I'll get Dr. McCoy.”

Content enough simply to sit and allow himself to finish shaking, Spock would have been pleased if Dr. McCoy had taken his time in arriving. He did not.

“What the hell happened this time?” the doctor snapped as soon as the door to the private room shut behind him. At least this time, when that sentiment left his lips he was not inclined to touch.

“Lieutenant Han requested tests and a feather sample in case my condition relates to something from the planet,” Spock replied, his voice still tight with his discomfort. “I simply require a little time to recover myself.”

“Is that all?” Dr. McCoy asked, his expression as disbelieving as his voice.

“And a new pair of pants,” Spock admitted, averting his eyes.

Dr. McCoy's head rocked back on his neck. “Damn, how sensitive are those things?”

Spock felt the tips of his ears warm with a flush of blood. “Very.”

“Damn, she must have done a number on you.” Dr. McCoy shook his head and tapped his chin. “Well, since you're here, we'll clean you up and do a full scan. Make sure she didn't do any damage.”

“That will not be necessary,” Spock protested.

“Ah, doctor's orders,” Dr. McCoy said, raising a hand to hold back all protests. “But clean pants first. Be right back.”

As soon as Spock had clean pants on he was more than ready to depart immediately, but Dr. McCoy would not let him pass.

“I am adequate now,” Spock protested.

“You're due back here in half an hour anyway,” Dr. McCoy countered. “Besides, I want to see how this influenced your hormone levels.”

Spock could only sit stiffly and wait for Dr. McCoy to finish.

“Your hormones levels have spiked even higher, and your adrenal system is running hot,” Dr McCoy finally announced after the last test.

“This surprises you?” Spock said, eyebrow touching his bangs.

“That depends.” Dr. McCoy's eyes flickered down Spock's body. “How much sexual activity have you participated in since the accident?”

Spock swallowed sharply, his fingers tightening into a fist that he kept out of sight next to his leg. “None.”

Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Nothing?” Spock shook his head. “Not with Uhura? Not alone?”

“I have been managing my condition as a Vulcan,” Spock said, his voice as stiff as his spine, even to his own ears.

“Huh.” Dr. McCoy stared for a minute before finally shrugging. “Well, maybe this will actually help. We'll know if your numbers go down by morning.”

Spock simply nodded, unable to verbalize a response. He wanted to believe his numbers would go back to normal now, but given the way his wings were still throbbing and bursts of heat were running through his veins, he doubted the likelihood.

A knock on the door interrupted them then. “Hey, Bones,” came Captain Kirk's voice through the door.

Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes but released the lock on the door.

“Hey, Spock. You never came back. Wanted to make sure everything was all right.” Captain Kirk's eyes went straight to Spock. There was something in his eyes that told Spock that the captain had heard about the incident in the Xenobiology Lab.

“I am adequate,” Spock said.

“For now,” Dr. McCoy cut in. “I'm not happy with his hormone levels.”

Captain Kirk looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “You keeping him?”

“Not tonight,” Dr. McCoy said. “As long as he comes back in the morning.”

Spock nodded when the doctor leveled a glare in his direction. He knew his orders and would obey as an officer of Starfleet in good standing.

“Chess?” Captain Kirk asked when Dr. McCoy stepped aside for Spock to leave.

Spock considered the offer. It was their usual night for chess. They had not missed a game in several months. On the other hand, he was rather overwhelmed by recent events. However, their chess nights often settled his mind and emotions as much as a night meditating. “That would be acceptable,” Spock decided.

~o0o~

Jim watched Spock carefully for those little winces during the walk to his first officer's quarters, but it seemed the crew was taking the night off. The events in the Xenobiology lab were probably legendary by now. Half the off duty crew would be standing Jocelyn Han drinks for the next week at least. The only good thing about the situation was the lieutenant had the sense to be ashamed about the whole situation and had reported it to Jim herself. Unfortunately, she'd also admitted she and Spock hadn't been the only ones in the lab.

Spock looked … peaked was the best description Jim could find. His skin was tinged greener than usual and his whole body moved more loosely than Jim had ever seen before. He knew there was more to Spock than the stiff necked exterior the half-Vulcan always showed, but that didn't change the fact that no one actually ever saw Spock at less than his best in public. Jim was fairly certain events had caused him to interrupt Spock and Uhura mid-coitus or post-coitus on a few occasions, but that assessment was based on Uhura's expression when they got to the Bridge. There had never been a single sign from Spock. But now Spock looked … no, peaked wasn't the best description. Well fucked was much more accurate, and that was concerning.

They had been walking in silence, but as they approached Spock's quarters, and therefore his own, Jim had to express some concern. “You sure you're up for company? We can always get together another night.”

Spock paused, visibly considering Jim's words in detail. “While the day has been … complicated, and tiring, I believe I will welcome a distraction from recent events for a few hours.”

“Chess it is, then,” Jim agreed. And he'd make use of the time to observe his friend a little, see if he spotted something Bones had missed. The doctor had been concerned about Spock's hormone levels.

Walking into Spock's room was like walking into a sauna without the moisture. That was normal, if startling all the same. Given the temperatures Spock preferred, Jim was sometimes amazed the half-Vulcan didn't freeze to death while on duty.

“Computer, decrease temperature settings to ship normal,” Spock ordered.

“Computer, set temperature at twenty degrees above ship normal,” Jim countered. He could handle a little heat tonight if it meant Spock was more comfortable. Spock deserved to be comfortable in his own quarters after today.

“Captain, that is not necessary,” Spock protested.

“Nonsense,” Jim said. He didn't bother to elaborate, just dropped into the chair by the 3D chess set Spock kept in the corner of the main room. “White or black?”

“White.”

They settled into the game with the ease of two year's familiarity. Jim was still trying random and illogical tactics to throw Spock off. Spock was increasing the complexity of his plans in order to counter Jim's randomness. Unsurprisingly, Spock won at least seventy-five percent of their games.

Jim knew Spock wasn't fully engaged when he managed to take the white queen in a gambit that the commander had countered successfully for the last month. While Spock plotted his next move, Jim leaned back to study his opponent instead of the board. Spock looked better, more his usual color anyway. But his brow was furrowing in concentration and he'd taken to chewing lightly on his bottom lip. That was not normal.

Just then Jim's stomach growled. Both men shared a startled look that turned to laughter, at least on Jim's part. Spock just raised an eyebrow. “I'm betting you skipped lunch because of the shuttle. What do you say we order in? I don't want to face the cafeteria today.”

Spock looked oddly discomforted, especially since the emotion was so clear on his face, but answered in the affirmative. Not sure what to make of all that emotion, Jim turned away and requested dinner from his yeoman. Might as well see if he could get Rand to earn her keep again. She'd been avoiding both Captain and First Officer since her misstep on the Bridge.

The game reclaimed their attention until the chime of the door rang out. Not looking away from the board, Spock hit the button to allow entrance and called, “Come in,” in a distracted voice.

“Spock?”

The female voice in the doorway was decidedly not from Janice Rand. Bad incident on the Bridge or not, there was no reason for the Captain's Yeoman to be quite so emotional. Looking up, Jim saw Uhura, her face as full of confusion and anger as her voice.

“Something tells me you two need to talk,” Jim said, standing so quickly he knocked his chair over. “Uhura can have my dinner. I'll get something in the cafeteria.”

“That is not necessary, Captain,” Spock said, his voice rough with emotions Jim couldn't name.

In the same moment, Uhura said, “Thank you.”

A quick fumble set his chair upright again before Jim leaned over, patting Spock on the wrist, careful that his fingers touch only cloth. “Yes, it is. So says the man with more experience with human women. I'll see you both at the briefing tomorrow morning.” He smiled at Spock, then walked out, giving Uhura a formal nod.

~o0o~

Spock accepted Captain Kirk's assessment that he needed to speak with Nyota, but he still did not desire to. After the events of today, another emotional conversation would not be conducive to his control. He did not want another experience like last night.

Nyota stood in the doorway, staring, allowing the room's heat to dissipate into the hall for one minute and nineteen point three seconds after Captain Kirk departed. Only then did she step fully inside and permit the doors to close. “Computer, set temperature settings to ship normal,” she ordered, then continued to stare.

Spock suppressed a shiver.

“Why?” Nyota finally asked. “Why won't you let me near, but you can let Joclyne Han do … do ...”

“She had a legitimate scientific inquiry,” Spock said.

“So she can touch you, get you off because it's scientific, but you run out of the room because I suggest dinner?”

Spock struggled for control, his emotions surging in a pattern he could not focus enough to identify. Giving in to the urge, he rubbed his hand over his forehead, an action he had seen Captain Kirk take many time. It seemed to calm the captain, but it did nothing for Spock.

“I left,” he said, struggling to push out the words, “because I did not wish to hurt you. My emotions have been … difficult. I became angry.”

“Then become angry,” Nyota snapped. “I thought we were close enough that you could allow me to see you emotional.”

“The last time I was that angry, I almost choked the life from Captain Kirk,” Spock spat. “I would not see you harmed because I lose control.”

Pressing a hand to her chest, Nyota looked distressed. “I never meant to push you that far.” She stepped forward and claimed the seat Captain Kirk had been sitting in so recently. Spock found himself wondering if it was still warm from the Captain's body heat, or if it had quickly cooled like the air around them. “But part of a relationship is being open enough that I shouldn't have to. You haven't been open with me of late.”

“I regret my failure to fully express my condition,” Spock said, though he was not quite sure how he had failed their relationship.

“Talk to me, Spock,” Nyota begged. “Something is going on with you. I want to understand.”

They were interrupted just then by the door. Spock stood and walked to the door. As soon as it opened, he took the tray from Yeoman Rand and stepped back, letting the door close on her startled face. He turned and held the tray out to Nyota, but she shook her head. He was not hungry either, had not been even when Captain Kirk asked, so he set the tray on the floor by the door and returned to his seat by the table.

“Vulcans follow the precept that the mind can rule the body,” Spock began. He was uncertain how to explain, or even if he wanted to. However, he did prefer that Nyota not be upset with him.

“That's why I'm worried,” Nyota cut in. “You are usually so focused, so controlled. The last few days … I haven't seen you so upset since our first mission. But then, you let me help you.”

“Grief is something even Vulcans acknowledge must be dealt with in order to proceed with life. Turning to friends and family for support and healing is a time honored tradition.” Spock rubbed his hands against the legs of his pants, but that only sent another surge of arousal through him.

“So why can't you turn to me now?” Nyota said, leaning over the table.

Spock took a deep breath and pushed back the arousal that was lurking. “Vulcans achieve physical maturity before they achieve sexual maturity. The latter usually occurs around twenty-five standard years of age. I have never achieved a Vulcan sexual maturity.”

Nyota's brow furrowed. “But you were twenty-seven when we got together … You ...”

“I achieved a Terran sexual maturity in my seventeenth standard year. In this manner, my human heritage has won out over my Vulcan self. My control was imperfect and it became a subject for ridicule from doctors, elders, and classmates.”

“Oh, Spock,” Nyota said, her hand reaching out to grasp his. He flinched away. That made her frown, but she pulled back. “So the fact that we can have a relationship is an embarrassment to you?” she asked sourly.

“It is … different,” Spock said, struggling to find the right words in a mind that was fogging with distractions. “Vulcans do not date. In most families, a marriage bond is formed between future mates at seven years of age. When sexual maturity is reached, the bond is finalized.”

“You're married?” Nyota asked, leaning back in her chair.

“No,” he said firmly. “Human sexual maturity does not have the characteristics necessary to trigger the finalization of the bond. Additionally, T'Pring made it clear long ago that she would not accept me if the time ever came for us to finalize our bond. Yet, in order to ensure the alliance between our families she refused to break the betrothal. My estrangement with my father made requesting the bond be broken difficult, but I had been petitioning for five point three seven years. The matriarch of my line had agreed to facilitate the breaking of our bond … I was due to return to Vulcan for the ritual during the next school break.”

“What happened to T'Pring when Nero came?” she asked softly.

“She did not escape Nero's attack,” he said. He felt this lips twist into a frown and a sour feel built in his stomach, not for T'Pring specifically but rather for the horror of all who lost their lives that day.

“Spock … I'm sorry. But I still don't understand what this has to do with us, now.” Nyota had crossed her arms and wore an expression of displeasure that normally sat on her face when the captain had done something she found particularly distasteful.

“My control is failing again, as it did when I was seventeen,” Spock snapped. He could no longer seem to modulate his tone. “I must maintain my control or I lose all right to call myself Vulcan. That is intolerable.”

Taking a deep breath, Nyota dropped her hands to her lap. She stared at him for a long moment before she spoke. “I see. Well, no, I don't see. I know control is important to you, but you've always been willing… We've been together three years and you've never mentioned any of this before. Why?”

“Marriage as it is structured and its relation to sexual maturity are remnants of our violent past. Vulcans do not speak of them unless there is no other choice.” Spock took a deep breath, repressing the urge to shiver, both at the temperature of the air and the arousal still pooling within him. “I had expected that we would discuss such things eventually.”

“But not yet, apparently,” Nyota said. Her lips were pursed in a manner that did not bode well for her mood.

Spock dredged up a response that the captain had used a few times, with varying degrees of success. “You had not asked.”

She winced, but her lips relaxed. “I want to help you, with this and with everything in your life.” Her hands reached out again, but stopped in the middle of the table without touching him. There they rested, palm up. “Will you let me?”

It took a great deal of effort to place his hands on top of the table, to set them palms down so that the tips almost touched hers. He should have touched. It was an intimacy he had not refused her before Sardina III. But he could not stand to do so, not now. “I would appreciate that,” he said softly.

Despite his attempts at reconciliation, her eyes were sad. They appeared fixed on the small distance between their hands. “You said you permitted Lieutenant Han to touch because she had a legitimate reason. Is loving you enough of a reason?” Her hands lifted, hovering over his own without making contact.

“Under most circumstances ...” The words trailed off. He knew what the words should be, but at this time they did not feel correct. Feel. There were all too many feelings within him at this time. Even with some distance between their hands, he felt as though she were pressing her skin to his, fire racing through him from the point of contact. He pulled his hands away.

“But not now,” Nyota said sadly, withdrawing her own hands once his were safely in his lap.

“Today has been … difficult,” he admitted. “Had the lieutenant not worn gloves, I do not know if I could have ...” His voice cracked with emotion, and he was appalled to realize the limited human tear ducts he had inherited from his mother were overproducing.

“I'll let you meditate,” she offered, standing. Her expression was an odd combination of yearning and discomfort. For a moment Spock was tempted to touch her, to attempt to understand what she was expressing, but common sense overruled before he could move.

“That would be appreciated,” he said, his voice sounding stiff even to his own ears.

“Right. Goodnight, Spock.”

“Goodnight, Nyota,” he replied even as she slipped out the door. This time when the cold seemed to seep into his bones, he let himself shiver.

“Computer, environmental controls to Vulcan standard, plus ten degrees,” he ordered as he moved to take a meditative posture. That should be sufficient to restore his comfort levels. He would remember to put on an extra thermal layer before his next shift.

[Chapter 4](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78498.html)


	4. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 4

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 3](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78157.html)

Jim looked proudly over his command crew gathered in the conference room. They had the youngest average age of any command crew in Starfleet and had the longest list of awards and honors after just two years in space. In some ways this mission was another honor. The Delgasians didn't have a lot of respect for the Federation, but they had specifically requested to meet these people.

Spock and Uhura looked a little tense but were settled in their usual places so last night couldn't have gone too badly. Well, Spock was standing, but he'd usually chosen to stand since the transporter accident.

The last to arrive was Jim's favorite security chief, Lieutenant Hanson, aka Cupcake. Initial annoyances aside, the man had worked hard to rise quickly through the security ranks and Jim was glad to have Hanson watching his back.

“Thank you all for coming,” Jim said to open the meeting. “I know you're all on different shifts right now. We'll be transitioning to one shift so we're all ready and awake when we go down to Delgasian IV. The PADDs before you contain information on the Delgasian culture, technology, and other interesting factors. You all get to take a crack at looking at it just in case a different perspective nets us a new angle on dealing with the Delgasians.”

Jim gestured at Uhura and began the lecture. “The Delgasian system sits in the Klingon Neutral Zone. The natives of Delgasian IV are a warrior race. Their culture is historically focused on inter-clan battles and identifying the best fighters through hand to hand combat. Since they unified under planetary leadership, the Delgasians have been seeking alternate battlegrounds. This, combined with their focus on warrior's honor, has drawn them towards the Klingon Empire.”

“It is our crew who has the best chance of forming an alliance with the Delgasians,” Spock said, picking up the thread of the lecture. Jim wanted to grin proudly at Spock's choice of the mutual possessive but resisted for the moment. “Only the survivors of the battle with Nero are to be allowed to interact with the Delgasians on this trip. It is imperative that we make a positive impression.”

“But we're not all warriors,” Bones cut in. “I spent the trip fixing people, and Scotty spent the trip fixing the ship.”

“But we wouldn't have succeeded without everyone,” Jim answered. “Delgasians respect the warrior band, which includes healers and techs. They've made most of their advances in the last fifty years by selling their services as mercenaries in exchange for technology. If they didn't have good techs, they'd never know if the deal was worth it.”

Spock turned to Jim with an eyebrow raised in the manner that seemed to imply he was impressed. Well, Jim hadn't had anything better to do last night than read up. It was a good way to keep himself from trying to listen in at the bulkhead to see how Spock was doing.

“The captain is correct,” Spock said. “It is our successes together that the Delgasians respect. They have requested detailed reports from Starfleet regarding all of our actions during the battle with Nero.”

“All of us?” Chekov asked. His voice had settled in the last two years, but his wide, innocent eyes still showed pain when he thought of those days. It was clear he'd never quite forgiven himself for failing Spock's mother.

“They have been expressing interest in the work you and Mr. Scott have been doing to improve transporter function and speed,” Spock said. The words made Checkov blush.

~o0o~

Spock admitted the briefing had gone well. The command crew of the Enterprise was young but well trained and worked smoothly together. He agreed with the Admiralty that, despite their youth, this crew had the best chance of impressing the Delgasians. Unfortunately, he was still uncertain that they could impress the Delgasians enough.

While the others filed out of the briefing, Spock continued to flip through his PADD, looking for some aspect of Delgasian culture that might provide an appropriate approach. Caught up in retrieving the research team from Sardina III with a full range of data he had not taken the time to do so previously. Amongst other distractions.

The fact that he was also avoiding the crowds in the hallway as the command crew left was irrelevant.

“Spock?” A familiar hand on his sleeve drew his attention from his research.

“Lieutenant?” he said, meeting Nyota's eyes. Even with her hand on his sleeve, he felt he could sense her emotions pressing on him through the three layers of cloth.

“I know it's a little early, but would you like to join me for lunch before we start on the Bridge?”

Spock felt his stomach churn at the thought, and he was unable to discern if it was the thought of food that upset him or the idea of spending time close to Nyota and her vibrant emotional state. Lust, curiosity, worry, desire, anger. He could feel it all radiating out from her even when she released his arm.

“There is much I must attend to before I begin my shift on the Bridge,” he said. The words were something of a prevarication, but as fire seemed to race through his veins he knew he needed to leave.

As he turned to depart, he caught a glimpse of a frown on her face.

~o0o~

Bones caught Jim by the arm in the corridor after the briefing and pulled him away from the others with an urgent glare.

“What's wrong, Bones?” Jim asked, his levity hiding the shiver Bones' expression was sending down his spine.

“I'm worried about that green-blooded hobgoblin you call a first officer,” Bones snapped, softly, and only after glancing around and making sure there were no other crew members within hearing range.

“I heard you last night,” Jim said. He was still trying to figure out what it was about hearing Spock's hormones were acting weird was bugging him. Or where he would have heard enough about Vulcan medical conditions to know there was something to Bones' concerns.

“I thought he might improve by this morning, last night being some kind of peak in things.”

“And?” Jim asked.

Bones shook his head. “Worse than ever. And he won't talk about it. Just says there's no way to prove it's unusual and insists I let him go back to work.”

Jim pressed the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Okay … sounds like we need something to confront him with that he can't disprove with logic.”

“I've got some ideas, but I wanted to talk to you before I went digging.” Bones looked uncomfortable with all this, and for good reason. Spock, of all the crew, was usually up front and quite reasonable about his health, unless the problem was emotional. Something was happening outside the good doctor's area of expertise.

“Consider it an order from your captain,” Jim said, clapping Bones on the shoulder. “There's something wrong with him. We just have to get him to admit it.”

~o0o~

With Bones' concerns in mind, Jim made certain to escort Spock to Sickbay after their shift on the Bridge. While on the Bridge, Spock had continued to appear the perfect science officer, as long as no one was near him. As soon as someone got near, he flinched and began to look more and more strained. Oh, if one weren't watching for it no one would notice. But Jim was watching, noticed, and was worried about his first officer and dear friend.

He didn't try to maintain a conversation, but even without the verbal cues it was clear when a crew member touched Spock's wings, and it was happening twice between every intersection despite the glare each passing person got from their captain.

“Do the corridors seem more crowded than usual?” Jim finally asked. The last idiot to touch Spock had had the audacity to wink when Jim glared at him. The next one was going to get the rough side of Jim's tongue.

“It does seem unusually populated for this time,” Spock replied. Then he froze. And growled.

Jim felt his eyes widen in shock as he watched his usually calm, controlled first officer go wild eyed and grab the nearest crewman and shove him against the wall. Vulcan fingers pressed against the man's neck, not his face, but to Jim it seemed like he could see the mental connection being made.

“A bet?” Spock snarled. The last time Jim had heard so much emotion in the other man's voice it had been in an enraged howl as Jim was thrown into the navigation console. “Is this sufficient reaction for you to win?”

Finally shaking off his shock, Jim grabbed Spock's shoulder, doing his best to avoid the huge wings in the way, and pulled back. The crewman was going red and making distressed wheezing noises. “Stand down, Commander,” Jim ordered. He wasn't strong enough to make Spock move if the half-Vulcan didn't want to.

And it seemed he had no desire to move. The crewman had all but stopped breathing and Spock had moved closer if he'd moved at all. Jim was getting desperate. He could call for help, but how many security officers would it take? None of the crewmen scattered about the corridor watching seemed inclined to step forward, all looking equally shocked and wide eyed from what Jim glimpse between jerks on Spock's shoulder.

“Commander Spock,” Jim said in his strongest 'I'm the captain so obey me' tone. Not a flinch. In desperation, Jim wrapped his hand around the edge of Spock's neck in an attempt at a Vulcan neck pinch. He'd seen Spock do them a few times, but seeing was clearly not learning since Spock still stood. But this time he did flinch.

It took Jim only a split second to realize he was touching the skin of Spock's neck with the side of his hand. Jim quickly slapped his hand around the back of his first officer's neck and did his best to think 'Stand down' as loudly as he could.

This time Spock actually shook, a full body shiver from his head to his toes, violently enough his wing feathers could be heard to rustle. Then he stepped back, his hand releasing the red faced crewman, who immediately dropped to the floor as he struggled for breath.

“Commander Spock,” Jim said sternly, his hand almost burning with the heat radiating from the half-Vulcan's skin. The hand that Spock seemed to be almost leaning into.

That thought barely crossed his mind before a look of shock crossed Spock's face and he stepped away from Jim's touch. A blank expression fell across Spock's features, but even Vulcan calm could not hide the terror in his brown, almost human eyes. He was frozen another moment before he muttered, “Excuse me,” and stalked off. No one tried to stop him, or touch him. The crewmen between him and the turbolift almost plastered themselves to the corridor walls to get out of his way.

Jim huffed out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Spock needed to go to Sickbay, now more than ever. Except it seemed the crewman at his feet probably needed medical help immediately. And Jim wanted to know just what triggered all that.

“Help me get the lieutenant to Sickbay,” Jim ordered, dragging over a nearby engineer.

~o0o~

Bones met them a few steps outside of Sickbay's doors. Jim was actually surprised the doctor hadn't shown up sooner since everything had gone down only one corridor down.

“What happened to him?” Bones demanded, running his medical tricorder over the still wheezing crewman, walking backwards as Jim and the engineer kept moving towards Sickbay. “Someone said something insane about Spock going mad.”

“Pretty accurate description,” the engineer muttered.

“Spock picked up something from our friend here,” Jim cut in. “And yes, he tried to strangle him. So fix him up so I can find out why.”

~o0o~

A bet? The crew had put together a bet about him? They had dared to touch, to desire to caress, to seek such a reaction …

Spock snarled as he left the turbolift at just shy of a run. His quarters were just down the corridor, a corridor that was devoid of people. This was officer's territory and rarely busy. Even so it felt as though he were surrounded and the door was too far away, even when he was standing before it.

The shutting of the doors behind him did nothing to the claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded, but the warmth did mute the shivering that had wracked his frame since the turbolift. No, longer. Since he had …

Thinking about it would only continue the cycle of emotional turmoil. He had to meditate, to rediscover his balance. Then he could continue to Sickbay and see the doctor as required. Yes, soon he would do as ordered, but even Dr. McCoy would understand his need for some time to recover from recent events.

He needed to meditate, but even standing in the middle of the room left him feeling exposed. Moving to the side room that contained his bed seemed to help, provide a feeling of security, though there was no logical reason for such feelings. That feeling of security was followed by a surge of heat that burned through his veins. He shed all three shirts, shuddering as each slid past his wings on the way over his head, before the feeling seemed to settle.

Settling on the floor, he sought to clear his mind. The pressure of his wings against the floor distracted him

Lifting his wings into a new position, he sought to clear his mind. A rush of memories distracted him. Every touch today had been accompanied by a surge of amusement, but only Ensign Forester had retained contact long enough for the reason to come through.

When the memories of so many fellow crew members taking pleasure in his discomfort passed, Spock found himself leaning against the half wall that separated his sleeping space from the rest of his quarters, his knees pressed against his chest, his arms holding his knees tight. He was shaking again.

This time he could not stop.

~o0o~

Bones was delightfully efficient. In less than ten minutes, one Ensign Forester was sitting on a biobed, breathing normally. Well, except for when his captain glared at him and he began hyperventilating.

“Now, you are going to explain what you did to upset Commander Spock,” Jim growled. “And if your explanation is good enough I might not lock you in the Brig for assault on a superior officer.”

That caused the Ensign to blanch pure white. Good.

“A bet,” Forester blurted. “There's a bet … Touch Commander Spock's wings and the person who gets the best reaction wins.”

“You idiot,” Bones snapped. “The commander is a touch telepath. Did you think he wouldn't find out?”

Forester sputtered, but Jim cut him off. “I want to know whose idea this was.”

“I don't know,” Forester protested.

Jim glared. “Then you will tell me who told you, who was there at the time, everyone you told, and anything else you can think of regarding this idiocy,” he ordered, leaning closer to the cringing crewman with each pronouncement. “And if I learn you skipped a single detail you will find yourself shipped out of Starfleet so fast your head will ring.”

~o0o~

“Notice to all crew members of the USS Enterprise from Captain Kirk. Lieutenant Commander Spock is henceforth permitted to break the arm of any crew who dares to touch his wings without permission. All members of the bet uncovered by Lieutenant Commander Spock today will be docked one week's pay, lose their privileges for a month, and be restricted to the ship on the next shore leave as soon as they are identified. Those identified as having actually tried to win will be considered for assault charges. Those who identify themselves and make proper apologies may receive leniency.”

Jim smirked at the ship wide announcement he had recorded earlier. A few engineers walking past him in the corridor looked more than a little nervous. Good. They deserved to be nervous.

Around the corner, Jim found Bones outside Spock's quarters. “Bones?”

“Nice announcement. But if I have to set any arms ...”

“So don't. They deserve the pain and can find their own medical aid,” Jim growled. He would never forget the wild look in Spock's eyes that afternoon.

Bone shook his head. “Not an option,” he said, sounding more than a little disappointed. “But you have a point. I never realized how bad it was getting. Spock kept saying it was getting better.”

Jim humphed. “Not from what I saw.”

“That green blooded hobgoblin has been lying to me,” Bones grumbled. “Found some extra evidence, too. He hasn't eaten since the day it happened.”

Brow furrowed, Jim tried to remember if he'd seen Spock with food recently. “I ordered dinner last night ...”

“Sent back untouched,” Bones cut in.

“I brought dinner the first night ...”

“Same.”

“Damn, how did I miss that?” Jim muttered. There was something about this that felt familiar, and not in a good way.

“Spock's damned good at prevaricating for a Vulcan who never lies,” Bones said. “You really haven't noticed?”

“When he's working he's fine. And we don't share that many meals normally. Every time I've tried recently we've been interrupted.”

“Interrupted?”

“Uhura … They're having issues I think.”

“I can see how she might be a bit tetchy about the incident with Lieutenant Han,” Bones said drolly. Jim just snorted. He would have hoped that Uhura might be more understanding given what Spock was going through, but it didn't look like that was the case.

The appearance of Nurse Chapel, the divine Christine, broke Jim from that train of thought. She was carrying a tray in her hands with a single covered bowl on top.

“Ah, that it?” Bones asked her.

“Just as you ordered. I just hope it tempts him,” Christine replied, to Jim's bemusement.

“What's that?” Jim asked.

“Vulcan plomeek soup,” Bones answered, waving the nurse towards the door of Spock's personal quarters, pulling Jim back to the corner off the corridor. “I asked her to try tempting Spock to eat, butter him up before I drag him off for more tests. If that doesn't work, I'll try sending Lieutenant Uhura. Or I was going to. Maybe I should send you and come up with something to keep her away.”

“Maybe,” Jim muttered. Something was really bothering him about this situation, but he didn't quite know what. Christine suddenly came running back out the door and barely dodged the soup that followed. A feeling of deja vu hit Jim as he watched. He'd seen this before, and it was not a good sign. However, it was the look of anger on Spock's face as he stood in the doorway that told Jim he had to act now, whether he really had seen this before or not. This was not normal Vulcan behavior, and he now had a bad feeling as to just what it was.

Spock glared at all of them before turning back into his quarters. Jim helped Christine to her feet and quickly sent her on her way despite her protests. “I'll talk to him,” he assured her. That didn't seem to calm her very well, probably because he and his first officer were still better known for being at each other's throats than getting along, even two years after the fact, but it did get her to go away.

“What the hell was that?” Bones asked, waving a frantic hand at the now closed door.

“I have a hunch,” Jim said, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt. The action was more a nervous gesture than a need to straighten his uniform.

“And?” Bones demanded.

“Can't tell you yet,” Jim said, distracted as he tried to figure out how to approach Spock.

Bones slapped a hand on Jim's shoulder, fingers gripping tightly even as they shook slightly. “As Chief Medical Officer, I need to know if something is wrong with a member of this crew.”

“Bones, if I'm right, this is very private,” Jim said, wrapping his hand around Bones' wrist and gently prying the doctor's hand loose before he cut off circulation. “I have to find out if I'm right before I can go asking permission to tell other people.”

“Ask permission from who?” Bones demanded.

“Spock,” Jim said. “And probably the Vulcan Elders. It's a cultural thing.”

“And how the hell do you know about it?”

Jim smiled wryly. “Classified incident … I'll try and get permission to explain that too. If it's relevant.”

“Captain, I need to know how to take care of my patient,” Bones said, his voice a low, formal growl.

“Go to Sickbay and start thinking of other ways to coax Spock to eat,” Jim suggested. “In the hope that I'm wrong.”

“You want to be wrong?”

Jim swallowed sharply and nodded. He'd be happy to be wrong, from what he remembered.

Bones glared, but Jim wouldn't give in. Not on this. Finally, the doctor huffed loudly and turned for the nearest turbolift. The reprieve was surely temporary, but Jim would take what he could get. Now he just had to figure out how to ask Spock about something no one ever talked about. Or maybe find out that he was completely insane. Either way it wouldn't be much fun.

Taking a moment in the empty corridor, Jim took a deep breath and tried to tighten the mental shields he'd been taught to form during his command track training. They weren't much, no psi neutral species could do much, but if he was right every little buffer he could provide would make this a little easier on Spock.

Finally girding his loins, he rang for entrance. Spock made no acknowledgment. Jim tried twice more and waited ten minutes before using his override as captain. It was an invasion of privacy, but he saw no other option.

“Spock?” he called as he stepped into his first officer's rooms. The temperature inside was higher than ship wide norm, higher than even Vulcan norm, but he didn't change it. He didn't want to do anything to make Spock more uncomfortable right now.

“Please go,” Spock called gruffly from his bed chamber.

“I can't do that,” Jim said.

“You most certainly can,” Spock countered, appearing in the doorway. “I am not due on duty for ten standard hours, and even the captain has no say in how I chose to spend my off hours.”

Jim took in the lack of shirt, the way Spock's shoulders were set, the way his hands were clasped behind his back almost defensively, the strong green tinge to his skin, and didn't like what he saw. “Well, technically Dr. McCoy could order you to Sickbay, but I drove him off so we could talk. I could order you to talk with me, Spock, but I'd rather not. So I'm going to ask first. Is there a chance this is pon farr?”

Jim knew how far gone Spock was by the extent of the visible reaction on his first officer's face. He positively winced, then his face filled with rage. “How do you know about that?” Spock demanded.

“Calm down,” Jim snapped back, not continuing until the look on Spock's face told him the half-Vulcan had taken a metaphorical step back. “You told me you met your future self back on Earth?” Spock nodded. “There was a lot for him to tell me when we met on Delta Vega, and not a lot of time. He used a mind meld.”

Spock looked appalled. “That is a very private technique. To use it with an alien, and one he had just met ...”

“But to him I was not someone he just met,” Jim corrected. “To him, I was, and still am, an old friend. At least, I think so. He told me what happened in the future, just as I reported to Starfleet. However, a few other things slipped through in his haste. I get occasional flashes of his life, and the other Jim Kirk.”

“I see,” Spock said formally. “You should speak with him about removing these remnants of memory. To leave them behind was quite improper. However, I do not see how this is relevant at this time.”

“It is, because that scene in the hall? I've seen it before,” Jim said. “Or rather, the other me had. When the other you went into pon farr the first time.”

Spock's eyes dropped to the floor, his face drawn with concern.

“I wonder if whatever's going on with those wings jump-started things,” Jim suggested.

“Are you saying I was not this age when my other self first suffered pon farr?” Spock asked, sounding a little more like himself as basic curiosity overrode anger.

“Umm, no. I don't think we met for a few more years in that universe,” Jim said, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece things together. “I don't really know for sure. I just keep getting bits and pieces. I'm guessing a lot.”

“Then perhaps it is not pon farr,” Spock said hopefully.

“And perhaps it is,” Jim said gently. Stepping forward he pulled one of Spock's hands out from behind his back, trying to keep his thoughts calm and ignore the way his friend flinched at the contact. As soon as he released it, it began to shake wildly. “What does your logic say?”

Spock's shoulder heaved as he let out a great sigh. “That this is pon farr and I have been a fool to ignore the likelihood the last few days. My reactions this afternoon were not logical.” His other hand grasped the shaking wrist, but the tremor was still visible in muted form.

“We know now,” Jim said firmly. “The question is, what do we do now that we know?”

“I must take a bondmate,” Spock said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

“What about ... umm … T'Pring?” Jim asked, dredging up the name from somewhere in his brain. He didn't want to think about it too closely. The other Jim Kirk's memories of the female Vulcan were not warm and fuzzy.

Spock just shook his head, and Jim knew she hadn't made it off Vulcan.

“I grieve with thee,” Jim said. “Surely there are un-bonded females on Shi'masu.”

“There is another option,” Spock said. His body was beginning to quake with nerves, or so Jim would have thought were Spock human. “Lieutenant Uhura.”

Jim chuckled. “Of course. I should have … right, I'll find her and send her by. You two can talk and decide.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock intoned. “But it is late. This can wait until tomorrow.”

“No, it can't,” Jim countered. His hand reached out. He wanted to touch, to comfort, but he resisted, dropping his hand again. The last thing Spock needed now was to deal with another's emotions beating on already weakened shields. Again. Jim had already pushed enough. He wanted to apologize for not noticing sooner, but didn't know how. “Unless you think you'll need a chaperone …?”

Spock shook his head, but turned away as he spoke. “I am not yet that far gone,” he said dismissively.

“If you say so,” Jim said softly. “Seems to me we've waited too long already.”

With that, Jim turned and walked out, not waiting for Spock to lay out another argument. Time was of the essence. Jim felt that now, even if Spock didn't.

[Chapter 5](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78760.html)


	5. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 5

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 4](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78498.html)

Spock was still attempting to settle his wildly fluctuating emotions when the buzzer on his door rang. The captain had chosen the wrong moment to be quick and efficient. Though the illogic of that thought did emphasize the captain's concern that they were late in identifying the root of Spock's condition.

A second ring from the door buzzer snapped Spock out of his thoughts and he triggered the door. Nyota stood on in the corridor. Her anger and frustration radiated from her and Spock felt it hit his telepathic senses like a physical blow.

“Please come in,” Spock invited. He would not show how much her presence discomforted him.

Nyota stepped into the room and winced. “Computer, decrease ...”

“Computer, decrease temperature to Vulcan norm,” Spock cut in. “I know the temperature is higher than you are comfortable with, but at present I need the increased temperature.” Even the slight difference in temperature seemed to make the burning rush through his veins all the stronger.

Sniffing softly, Nyota stepped to the table and settled in the chair. “So, after running away again you suddenly need to send the captain to fetch me,” she said. “What is so important?'

Spock remained standing but turned to watch her. Nyota. His crewmate. His friend. His lover. His bondmate? How had his father successfully wooed a human female?

“I told Captain Kirk that it was not necessary to interrupt your evening.”

“Then why am I here?”

“The captain disagreed with me as to immediacy of attending to the situation.”

Nyota crossed her arms across her chest.

Spock swallowed, his throat suddenly highly uncomfortable. For all his anger, he had not felt as uncomfortable with Captain Kirk. He would have to discuss the variations in emotional reactions with his father when they next communicated.

“The captain has been observing my behavior over the last few days and I believe he has identified the source of my irrational behavior.”

“I have been observing you. You have been you. Why should Kirk be the one who understands?” Nyota snapped.

“The captain had access to information that you did not and is in a more rational state of mind than I am at present.”

She frowned, but this was less an angry frown and more a look of confusion. “You are the most rational, logical entity I know, Spock, and while I agree that the captain is highly intelligent, rational patterns are not his forte.”

“At this time most of the crew is likely more rational than I am.” He furrowed his brow as he considered the events of the afternoon. “Save perhaps those who signed up to take part in that bet.”

Her eyes widened and her brow furrowed, perhaps in puzzlement. “What bet?” She held up a hand before he could respond. “Forget it. I'm more interested in why you think you're such an irrational person right now.”

“I believe I mentioned last night that Vulcans achieve sexual maturity differently than Humans do.”

“You know you did. Your memory is excellent. Spock, what's going on?”

“It appears that the accident on Sardina III has caused me to achieve Vulcan sexual maturity.”

The room fell silent save for the whisper of the ship's environmental systems pushing air through the duct system. Nyota stared.

“Congratulations,” she finally said, mind the only indication of the anger she continued to feel. “Now explain why this required me to leave my friends in the cafeteria. I don't even want to think about why Captain Kirk knows how to identify such a thing.”

He felt his lips turn downward and his stomach … well, he was not hungry but his stomach felt a measure of discomfort in a manner he was unfamiliar with. “The Vulcan race prides logic above all things and decries emotion to the degree that many other races assume we do not posses them.”

“Which I know is wrong. Get to the point.”

“While under normal circumstances we do not allow our emotions to dictate our behavior, a remnant of biology prevents us from retaining that state under all circumstances. Once sexual maturity is reached, every seven years we suffer a condition we call pon farr. It is a biological imperative to mate. Logic and rational behavior are lost and emotion and desire rule mind and body.” Nyota frowned but did not interrupt. Spock struggled for more words to explain what was never discussed, and to convince her to disregard her anger.

“My behavior since the accident has been more and more ruled by emotion and desire, and I could not identify the cause due to the increasing failure of my logic. I have been avoiding situations that seem to induce additional emotions without considering that there was a reason for those emotions.”

“So you're saying your sexual maturity made you avoid me?” The words were spat out harshly.

“Incorrect. I have been avoiding you because your emotions have been very easy to read, which caused me to feel more emotion as well. I believed this was a failing of my training as a Vulcan. Now I see that it was my biological desire seeking out a compatible bondmate.”

He ran out of words and focused on the struggle to remain still. Under normal circumstances, stillness was easy to maintain, but right now he felt the continuous urge to move. Making note of the urge, he turned his attention to Nyota, who had still said nothing and was rubbing her left earring between her left forefinger and thumb.

“I believe I understand your explanation.” She continued to watch him, and he wondered what differences she saw from his normal state. “However, I believe you are going to have to be more explicit as to why I am here, now.”

“When Vulcans reach sexual maturity they take a bondmate. I am … You are ...” The words would not come.

“Wait ... Are you proposing?” Nyota leaned forward, her hands dropping to rest on her knees. It was a more relaxed position. Perhaps a good sign?

“I believe that is the human equivalent,” Spock agreed, grateful that she had comprehended.

“I don't ... Spock, you know I care about you,” she said, her eyes seemingly begging him for understanding. “But I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step. The impact on our careers ... Starfleet wouldn't let us stay together, and the Enterprise ... which of us could give this up? And even if they did let us stay together there's the issue of children. I haven't thought … How can you ask this now? Sure, you can explain the last few days, though you still should have let me help, but that doesn't explain why we've been … drifting apart.”

“I recognize the logic of your concern,” Spock said, but for once there was no comfort in logic.

“I cannot seriously consider a lif long commitment to you at this time.” Nyota stood. “Maybe when you are over this we can try and work things out, but right now you are dealing with too many things and I need to process some of these things you are just finally tell me … I'm sorry, Spock.” Her eyes never met his as she spoke, nor did she look back as she stepped past him and slipped out the door.

~o0o~

Jim spent the night in his ready room. In fact, as soon as he found Uhura, he went straight there. He abused his position as captain to order dinner and get a yeoman to fetch him a fresh uniform. Then he read reports until his eyes crossed and he passed out face first in a pile of PADDs. Better that than risk going back to his quarters and hearing something he shouldn't. Not that he ever had heard anything through the bulk head, but right now he was worried enough to try. At least here he could focus and get some work done.

He also spent a few minutes sending messages to Shi'masu, the new Vulcan homeworld, letting Spock's family know what was going on. Sure, Spock would take care of that later, but Jim needed to slip in requests for permission to tell Bones something, before the crotchety doctor decided to hypo it out of him.

Rand actually woke him the next morning, carrying a cup of coffee and a breakfast that would have Bones in conniptions about Jim's cholesterol levels. Bless the woman.

Of course, if she'd arrived a little earlier, Jim would have actually been on the Bridge when his shift started. That might not have changed anything since he had been planning to turn the watch over to someone else and go back to his reports, but maybe it would have.

“Spock?” His mouth had opened to request a condition update before he left again, but then he'd seen those wings and his brain had rerouted. Spock should be in his quarters dealing with pon farr. Shouldn't he?

“Yes, Captain?” It took less than a second to spot the fractures in Spock's facade of calm. He was shaking slightly, ever so slightly, and looked more than a little bulky. Jim wondered just how many thermal layers Spock was wearing. He glanced away for a moment and spotted Uhura. She was forcibly ignoring them both, hunched over her console.

Jim considered his options for a moment, then realized he'd been standing there without responding for far too long. Fortunately, Bones arrived just then and distracted the Bridge crew from wondering what was wrong with their captain.

“Commander Spock,” Bones snapped as soon as the turbo lift doors open. “You were due in my domain before your shift.”

Spock winced. It was subtle, but definitely a wince. “I am now aware of the reason for the variations regarding which you were concerned. The situation is perfectly normal for a Vulcan and so there is no need for your continued monitoring.”

Bones looked puzzled, then turned his glare on Jim. “Anyone want to explain that double speak to me?”

“Commander, has the matter we discussed last night been resolved?” Jim asked, glancing obliquely at Uhura.

“No, Captain.” Spock's reply was flat, bland, and infuriating.

“Captain, you have a message from Shi'masu,” Uhura said before Jim could decide how to respond to his second's complete inability to manage his own health.

“I'll listen later, Lieutenant.”

“It's live, sir. And we'll only be close enough to the subspace relay for another twenty minutes.” Normally Uhura would turn when she announced such things, look at the person she was talking to. Today she was not, instead remaining completely focused on her control board. What happened last night?

Jim stared at her back, then turned a glare on Spock. “I'll take it in my ready room. And while I'm doing that, you will be in Sickbay, Commander. And, Bones, keep him there. I have a few things I need to discuss with the two of you.”

He stood there until his two friends were in the turbo lift. Spock looked tempted to argue, but probably didn't want to discuss the matter in front of the entire, very curious, Bridge crew. Only once the doors were shut did Jim turn and go into his ready room. “You have the Conn, Mr Sulu,” he called over his shoulder, and ignored the plaintive and curious calls that were cut off by the doors sliding shut.

Shit, that was not a scene that should have occurred on the Bridge. If Spock was in his right mind he would have told Jim if things went south last night. Hell, if Spock was in his right mind he would have identified his condition days ago. Why didn't Vulcans tell Star Fleet about pon farr again? At least the medical staff should know what to look for, just in case a visiting scientist or ambassador started up.

With the intention of suggesting they do just that, Jim sat at his desk and triggered the small screen. And, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, smiled.

“It is good to see your face, old friend.”

“You have no idea the truth of that, Ambassador,” Jim replied. The other Spock was a sight for sore eyes. “You received my message then?”

Spock looked pained. “Yes. I must apologize for the memories I left behind. To have lost so much control, even in the depth of such grief … I am truly sorry, old friend. These memories are not yours to bear.”

Jim waved his hands in disagreement. “Don't give me that,” he snapped. “It's never interfered with my life. Knowing two people could be that close has mostly been a wonderful experience. And today … today I thank you. If the memories you left behind hadn't tipped me off, we might not have caught this in time. You gave me the means to diagnose my stubborn friend.”

Spock looked a touch flustered for a moment, though only if you knew what to look for, but then the logic of Jim's words hit. “You have a point, as always,” he said, a hint of smile touching his lips. “All the same, the next time you are in the area I should try and reclaim these stray memories.”

“Fine, we'll talk about it then ... soon. But what I really want to know now is, what should I do about Spock?”

“You mentioned that he intended to speak with Lieutenant Uhura?”

Jim rolled his eyes at the current insanity. “Yes. But while I don't yet know what happened, it's clear he's still ...” Jim waved his hand suggestively. “And Uhura wasn't exactly glowing.”

“Pon farr takes several days to develop. Perhaps he is not yet ...”

Jim cut him off. “Last night he looked about ready to collapse. He hasn't eaten in days. Last night he couldn't stop shaking, was highly sensitive to cold, and his temper is on a hair trigger. Like I said in my message, I think the wings triggered everything and are making it worse. I … well, the incident with Lieutenant Han proved they're very sensitive.”

“Then it is likely he is very close. While it is normal to perform koon-ut-so'lik before friends and family, in an emergency it is acceptable to act in the moment and have matters settled later before the council.”

“So … what do I do?” Jim knew he sounded like a plaintive child, but he couldn't help it. His friend was sick, dying, and there was nothing the medical staff could do.

“You must find him a bond mate. Either find someone from the crew he deems acceptable or bring him to Shi'masu. And I suggest you do not delay.”

“I'll change course now, have Bones call it a medical emergency.” Jim grimaced. “Oh, and on that front, can I tell Bones something? Please?”

“Has he progressed to medical threats?” Spock looked like he was almost smiling, but it was a bit melancholy.

“Not yet, but as Sickbay is my next stop ...” Jim trailed off and tried for a look of wide eyed innocence. The twinkle in Spock's eye probably indicated he'd failed miserably.

“I sent a packet of information when I first called. In it is information on pon farr from a medical and cultural perspective. You may share it with Dr. McCoy. It is based on a packet I have been suggesting we send to Starfleet medical just in case of incidents like this.”

“I was so going to suggest something like that,” Jim said. “If I hadn't recognized the source of Spock's behavior … well, Vulcans are too precious to leave such things to chance any time soon.”

“I agree. However, not all do.”

“I'll be happy to talk to some people in your support any time you want.”

“Thank you, Jim. This incident will hopefully spur action.”

“Um … and how am I to explain how I recognized Spock's condition?”

“You have my permission to explain the source fully to Dr. McCoy. I would never have kept it from him had you asked previously.”

Jim let out a relieved breath. “Excellent, thanks. I'd thought about asking, but Starfleet was pretty firm about keeping my mouth shut.”

“It was not my wish that they do so, but I do understand and appreciate their efforts to keep my origins quiet. My life is quite complex enough as Selek.”

“I can only imagine. Well, we'll see you in a few days most likely. I'll talk to Spock, but if Uhura said no I have a feeling we'll be there shortly. Um … there will be someone to help him if we get him to Shi'masu, right? I know he said T'Pring died with Vulcan ...”

“There are several females of the right age and I believe I know what kind of bondmate would best please my younger self. I shall begin seeking someone immediately.”

Jim nodded. “Good. I'll focus on getting him there alive, Bones'll keep him alive that long, and you'll have someone to keep him alive on that end. Perfect.”

“I have faith that all will be well.” It was not a very Vulcan statement, but Jim had learned that this Spock was prone to the occasional Human sentiment. “Live long and prosper, old friend.” Spock held his hand up in the Vulcan sign and Jim echoed him as best he could. He still couldn't quite get his pinky to stay with his fourth finger all the time.

“And you, old friend. We'll see you soon.”

~o0o~

Jim didn't waste any time brooding in his ready room. He strode back onto the Bridge with a firm stride. Stopping next to his chair, Jim called, “Ensign, how long to Shi'masu?”

“Ten days at warp four, Keptin,” Chekov replied after a short pause, his young face aglow with curiosity. Actually, the whole crew was eyeing him with desperate curiosity. Except Uhura. She wasn't looking at anyone at all.

Jim opened a comm line to Engineering. “Bridge to Mr. Scott.”

“Yes, Captain,” Scotty answered quickly.

“Just how fast and for how long can this ship go?” Jim asked, challenging with his tone. Seven days was just too long.

“Well, sir, with the modifications we made last year, I think we could get warp eight, probably, might burn out the engines after three days, but I don't think … warp seven definitely though, indefinitely.”

“Ensign,” Jim called, “how long to Shi'masu at warp seven?”

“Five days, twenty hours, and seven minutes,” Chekov ripped off far too quickly. He'd probably been computing alternate speeds since Jim asked the first one.

“And warp eight?”

“Three days, twelve hours, twenty minutes.”

“Then set the course and punch it. Warp seven,” Jim ordered. “And, Scotty?”

“Yes, sir?” Scotty replied eagerly, sensing a challenge in the offing.

“Convince me you can make those engines last at warp eight and you'll get to try it,” Jim tempted.

“Yes, sir!” Scotty replied enthusiastically. “I'll have the equations and proofs for you in an hour.”

“Very good.” Jim flicked off the comm.

“Course laid in, Captain,” Sulu announced. “Warp seven.”

“Go,” Jim ordered flatly. He looked at his chair, his position of authority, and winced. He had no orders for this change in course, and it was a miracle his crew hadn't called him on that fact. He'd get that sorted out as soon as he got to Sickbay. Starfleet would have to listen.

“Captain?” Uhura said, her voice hinting at her displeasure at his unexplained actions. “I need to inform Starfleet of our change in course. Can I tell them why?” Well, someone had called him on it after all.

“Medical emergency,” Jim bullshitted. “Further details to follow.”

“Interesting,” Uhura intoned, sounding far too much like her lover, “since Shi'masu is not the nearest source of medical aid and Dr. McCoy has said no such thing.”

Jim walked over to her and spoke quietly, for her ears only. “You said no last night, didn't you?

Uhura finally looked at him, frowning. “I do not understand how you know anything about that, but you're right. I said no. It's not the right time.”

“Then Spock is the medical emergency. Dr. McCoy just doesn't know it quite yet. Please route the packet of information Ambassador Selek sent down to Sickbay. If Starfleet calls, route it down there too.”

He turned away, not wanting to see her reaction. “Lieutenant Sulu, you have the conn.”

~o0o~

“I hope to you're here to tell me what the hell is going on,” Bones snapped as soon as Jim stepped into Sickbay. Spock was nowhere in sight.

“Yes, but the info I just had routed down should do it better than I can,” Jim answered distractedly. He had been out of it the whole way from the Bridge, trying to figure out how the hell Uhura could have said no to Spock. He could die without her and she was worried about the timing?

“Hey, Jim, you here?” Bones asked, dragging Jim to his office when he stood still a little too long.

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim replied, shaking off his distraction and sitting at the doctor's desk to access the files from Shi'masu. “Where's Spock?”

“I finished the tests and put him in an iso room for now. His numbers are a mess and I don't want him out of my sight right now.”

“Can't blame you. From what I recall ...” Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, it'll get worse before it gets better.”

“Are you ever going to explain?” Bones demanded.

Jim just answered by activating the video message attached to the files. Ambassador Selek's face filled the screen.

“Jim, I have received permission from The Vulcan High Council to send to you a number of files. Included are an explanation of pon farr for Dr. McCoy, a description of the rituals of koon-ut-so'lik, and some techniques and medications which may aid Spock in handling his condition. If Dr. McCoy forwards Spock's medical records over the last few days, then our specialists will attempt to provide additional recommendations.

“I know that you will keep these files private between yourself and the good doctor and together you will do everything you can for Spock.

“Please inform me of Lieutenant Uhura's decision. If she declines, the Council will request the Enterprise's presence and hopefully the techniques included here will keep Spock stable long enough to arrive.

“Live long and prosper, old friend.”

Bones listened to the whole message with a look of confusion. “Who the hell was that?”

“Ambassador Selek,” Jim replied, smiling. Spock must have thrown that message on just for Bones.

“Old friend? Jim? I've never heard a Vulcan speak so informally. How long have you known him?”

It was a relief not to have to hide that incident anymore. “Since Spock marooned me on Delta Vega, or over a hundred years, depending on who you ask,” he said with a wistful smile. Before Bones could poke and dig any further, he went on to explain everything, who Selek was and where he was from, the mind meld, how Jim knew about pon farr, everything. Then he added how deeply Starfleet had classified the whole situation

“You let an alien you just met go poking around in your brain?” Bones demanded, sounding like he believed Jim to be completely insane.

Uncertain how to answer, Jim shrugged. “He was very persuasive.”

“Persuasive? This from the man I can't even get to sit still when he's got three broken ribs and a trachea so bruised he can barely speak?”

Jim snickered. “Sorry, Bones.”

“Remind me to ask this guy for tips when we get to Shi'masu,” Bones snarked. “Wait, are we going?”

“Yes,” Jim said sadly. “And since I already changed course, could you tell Starfleet about our very private medical emergency?”

“What about Uhura? Those two have been hot and heavy for years.”

“Apparently she said no,” Jim growled.

“What?” Bones snapped. “You said he'll die without ...”

“I know that,” Jim snapped back. He knew and it terrified him. He strode towards the iso room Bones had indicated earlier, calling back, “Look, read through the files, see if you can come up with something to help Spock. I'm pretty sure the wings have exacerbated the whole thing, sped up the process.”

“Damn … what are you going to be doing?”

Jim turned at the door. “Finding out why we didn't change course last night.”  


[Chapter 6](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79102.html)


	6. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 6

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 5](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/78760.html)

Spock had not appreciated being dragged back to Sickbay. Which wasn't to say he had enjoyed being on the Bridge. He had barely maintained control as the burning in his veins heightened every time someone around him moved. However, he had positively disliked being run through the doctor's tests. At least on the Bridge he had his duty as a distraction. He was aware of the source of his condition and there was nothing Dr. McCoy could do.

There was nothing anyone could do.

Meditation was said to help soothe the burn, so Spock was meditating. He had turned the lights down to near dark since being left in the iso room, and turned the temperature up. There was just enough room to sit on the floor and still spread his wings enough that they almost didn't brush the floor.

It was less than soothing. He was more enwrapped in frustration than calm, making it almost a relief when the doors opened to permit the captain's entrance.

“Uhura said no,” Captain Kirk said softly, leaning against the wall by the door. It took only seconds for him to begin visibly sweating.

“Captain,” Spock hissed, uninterested in hearing of his failures. He could not control himself, could not choose a bondmate, could not keep Vulcan's secrets. “If that is all you are here to say ...”

“Jim. I'm not here as your captain,” Captain Kirk interrupted. “And no, that's not all I'm here for. Though I do wonder … But, what's important is that we are on our way to Shi'masu. We'll be there in a little over three days.”

Spock frowned, his brow furrowing as he struggled to think clearly about the captain's words. Perhaps the doctor was right to relieve him of his duty if his mind was so fuzzy. “To achieve that time frame we must be traveling faster than recommended warp speeds for this sector.”

“Scotty's testing the engines at warp eight. Or he will be soon.”

“Captain,” Spock protested.

“Spock,” Captain Kirk snapped back. “Your life is on the line. Bones is looking at ways to help you last that long, but with those wings in the mix ...”

“I see,” Spock cut in, and he did. Somewhat. “I do not see how it is worth risking the entire ship to try and preserve one life.”

“Scotty's watching things carefully,” Captain Kirk said. “Of course, the risk would have been less if we'd changed course last night.”

Spock could not meet his captain's eyes.

“Why didn't you contact me immediately? As soon as Uhura said no? We've been essentially flying away from Shi'masu for ten hours we didn't have to.”

Because Spock had not wished to admit to his continued failings.

Captain Kirk sighed, a sound that usually meant he was disappointed in someone's behavior. Spock had heard that sound before, but never had he been the cause. “Fine, we'll talk about it when you're back to yourself. But, Spock, please remember you are important to me, both as my first officer and as my friend. If something else comes up, please, come to me.”

Spock looked at his captain, his blue eyes more serious than Spock had seen them before. Even in the midst of battle, Captain Kirk's eyes were usually light and filled with humor. Today there was only concern in their depths. “Starfleet will not approve of a change in course,” Spock protested, but it felt a rote attempt. “The Delgasian investiture ...”

“You'll be dead before we get there. I'm supposed to just show up and apologize that the other big hero of the battle with Nero isn't here because I let him die of something perfectly curable illness?” Captain Kirk snapped. “That would just go over great.”

Spock's brow furrowed as he thought. He found he couldn't quite remember everything about the Delgasian society, though he knew he had been researching it in depth for some time.

“Besides, you're important to me,” Captain Kirk said firmly. “Starfleet will understand. I just don't understand why you're not important enough to Uhura,” Captain Kirk muttered, looking away from Spock's puzzled gaze.

“Lieutenant Uhura's attraction to me is extensive,” Spock corrected. “However, I did not inform her of the extent of the risk to me.”

“What?” Captain Kirk howled. He surged forward, falling to his knees before Spock.

“I did not wish her to make a choice in desperation,” Spock hissed through gritted teeth. While at a distance the Captain's presence had been tolerable, he was radiating emotions as strongly as Nyota had the last few days now that he was close. Close enough to touch. “She needed to think logically about her decision, not emotionally.”

“And logically she's not ready,” Captain Kirk growled. “She's making a mistake.”

“Perhaps so, from your perspective,” Spock countered, though on one level he agreed. He had hoped … but hope did him no good in this situation. “It is possible I could have explained better, but I will respect the decision she made. It was the best she could make, logically, from her perspective.” It was all he could do.

“Even if you end up dead?” Captain Kirk asked.

“Yes,” Spock replied calmly. He amazed even himself that he managed to hold such a relaxed conversation when his mind was buzzing so hard with distraction and desperation. But, he was Vulcan, and he would die as a Vulcan if he must.

Captain Kirk sighed and rubbed a his hand over his face. “Is there anyone else aboard the Enterprise that you'd consider?”

“Captain, I will not trap someone in a relationship they are neither prepared for nor understanding of simply because a malfunction has prematurely started my mating cycle.” Spock's expression was firm and confident. He just hoped Captain Kirk didn't catch his left hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

Captain Kirk looked disapproving but did not argue further. “Then we'd better get to Shi'masu soon. You will accept a Vulcan mate?”

“Of course. A Vulcan female will be prepared for what is to come. It is a logical choice.” Even if the idea of taking a stranger into his bed, into his life, held no emotional attraction to him.

“It's only logical if you can hold it together that long.”

Spock could only shrug, though he regretted the action as soon as the feathers of his wings rustled through the air.

“I contacted Shi'masu already. The ambassador promised to find someone appropriate, who'd suit your tastes.”

“You have spoken with the ambassador?” Spock asked, his eyes fixed on his captain.

“Who else would I call about this?” Captain Kirk replied blandly. “Who else would I trust?”

Spock had to admit that contacting his alternate self was a logical choice. That did not mean he was completely at ease with the number of people now aware of his condition.

“Look, Bones has some new info from the Vulcan doctors. He should have something to help soon. I've got a ship to run, but you focus on holding on.” Captain Kirk's hand reached out, as though he intended the usual pat on the shoulder that often ended their conversations. But he froze, hand half extended, then pulled it back. “Just hang on.”

Spock failed to formulate a response before the captain had retreated out the door.

~o0o~

Bones caught Jim between the iso room and the hall door.

“Have you looked at this?” Bones demanded, waving a PADD under Jim's nose.

“No, you got first dibs,” Jim said with a shake of his head.

“He really could die. In fact, based on his numbers this says he's lucky to be alive.”

Jim pushed the arm holding the PADD out of his path. “I don't need numbers to tell you that.”

“Where are you going?” Bones yelled as the hall doors opened.

“To see just how fast Scotty thinks this ship can go.”

~o0o~

“We'll have t'watch the plasma conduits for overheatin',” Scotty warned, showing Jim the calculations he'd prepared. “But I'd like t'see if we can do i'.”

“Do we have spare parts for if anything blows?” Jim asked, skimming the calculations. He understood the basics of warp theory and the engines that ran the ship, but the level that Scotty ran at was a whole 'nother thing.

“Sure,” Scotty said cheerfully. “Take a few hours t'make any replacements long as we stop soon as or before somethin' goes.”

“I'd rather not burn anything out, but we're desperate and we'll have to try it sometime,” Jim muttered. “Your team ready to do this?”

“Aye, Captain,” Scotty said excitedly. “I set up a roster in the hopes you'd ...”

Jim cut him off with a gesture and walked to the nearest comm panel. “Bridge, this is Captain Kirk.”

“Lieutenant Sulu here, Captain.”

“Increase speed to warp eight,” Jim ordered.

“Warp eight, aye, Captain.” Sulu sounded a little uneasy, but Scotty's readings showed that unease induced no delays. The power consumption quickly rose as the hum of the engines shifted slightly.

“You watch those engines closely, Mr. Scott,” Jim ordered as he cut off the comm line. “I want to know if anything changes.”

“You'll know as soon as I do, Captain,” Scotty promised. “But, Captain … much as I enjoy the chance to test out those nacelles, why the rush to Shi'masu?”

“Side effect from the transporter malfunction,” Jim hedged. “Spock's in need of some help Dr. McCoy can't give.”

“Ah, damn,” Scotty muttered. “I'm still working on what exactly happened then. You sure the Vulcans can help?”

Jim nodded, shuffling words in his mind so he could explain without giving too much away. “As I understand it, the change in his system triggered a condition that's well documented ...” He shrugged like he didn't really understand. “Vulcan healers know what to do, but we don't have the right equipment here or something.”

“Tell Dr. McCoy ta let me know if I can try and jury rig anythin' for him,” Scotty requested.

“Will do,” Jim agreed, heading for the door.

“And I'll let you know soon as I get somethin' from those transporter simulations,” Scotty called after him.

~o0o~

As the door slid open again, Spock was unable to hide the shudder that ran though him. Air pressure shifts were enough to cause flares now. He was beginning to wonder how the Vulcan race had ever survived long enough for Surak to be born.

“I've got a compound that might help alleviate the symptoms,” Dr. McCoy announced as he stepped inside. “But based on your accelerated progress, I don't think it will help for long.”

“Whatever assistance you can provide will be appreciated, Doctor,” Spock replied, slowly working his way to his feet. Facing the captain while sitting on the floor had been acceptable, but for some reason facing the doctor so was not. It was not a logical conflict. Perhaps it was a side effect of the pon farr.

Dr. McCoy stepped up and pressed a hypospray to Spock's neck. “Let me know how that works,” he said, running his medical tricorder over Spock.

Spock took a deep breath as the doctor's medication circulated through his bloodstream. Illusory though it was, it seemed as though he could feel the particles of medication slipping through his veins. Where it traveled a feeling of moderate coolness seemed to blanket the flames of pon farr. As he began to feel better, he realized just how poorly he had been feeling. And for how long. “It is an improvement.”

“Your numbers are better already,” Dr. McCoy agreed, studying his readouts. “But I don't know how long that will last. You're confined to quarters until we get to Shi'masu, doctor's orders.”

“That is an acceptable precaution,” Spock said. He was tempted to ask to remain here rather than face the corridors to return to his quarters. His wings twitched slightly as the doctor moved, but there was a noticeable decrease in the erotic effect on him. This was not to say it was eliminated, the feeling was still pronounced with every shift, but it was lessened. For the moment, he felt rather more clearheaded than he had since before meeting with Lieutenant Han.

“I'm tempted to keep you here, but it's better to limit stimulus and you'll get more privacy in your own rooms. You've been meditating?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Spock answered.

“The information the Vulcan doctors sent indicate that's a good idea, so keep it up.” Dr. McCoy held out a PADD and Spock took it. “That's everything they sent. I don't know how much they told you as a kid, so read through it and see if anything helps.”

“It is not discussed extensively, even amongst ourselves,” Spock said.

“Well, now is a good time to learn. While that hypo is fresh I'm going to escort you to your quarters. Though the idiots should stay away after the captain's threat last night.”

“I did notice an improvement this morning,” Spock said. He found that fact a relief but also took dark amusement from the nervous looks on the faces of those he passed.

~o0o~

Jim swung by his quarters on the way back from Engineering. The privacy gave him a chance to record a message for the other Spock. He made sure to include three points: one, Uhura had said no; two, they were proceeding at warp eight and would arrive in approximately three days; and three, Spock looked like shit.

His brain had been pulling up memories of Spock going through pon farr, probably from echoes of the other Jim Kirk's memories, and none of it was comforting. If Jim was right, Spock looked about two inches from falling into the plak tow, but sounded way too coherent to have slipped all the way just yet. He hoped.

It took a lot to resist the urge to ask Scotty if there was any chance of getting to warp nine and instead went to the Bridge, his message on a data card.

“Please transmit this to Shi'masu, care of Ambassador Selek,” he asked Uhura, handing her the card.

“Of course, Captain,” she replied, giving him a funny look. If she had said yes, Jim might have stopped to explain, but she'd said no. At the moment, Jim wasn't particularly happy with her and didn't feel like being closer to her any more than he had to.

The rest of his shift held promise to go quietly, but that calm was interrupted as his relief arrived.

“Captain, there's a message from Starfleet,” Uhura called, her voice calm but her mouth pinched unhappily when he turned to look.

“Play it, Lieutenant,” Jim said with a resigned sigh.

“Enterprise, your request to change course immediately to Shi'masu for a medical emergency is denied. Your presence is required at the Delgasian system for the investiture of the new planetary leader. Permission to visit Shi'masu will be given after the Delgasian services.”

Jim scowled at the speaker by his chair. Well, he wasn't going to take this sitting down. He turned to Uhura and said, “Lieutenant, please tell Starfleet that their denial of permission is being ignored. Commander Spock won't live to reach the Delgasian system in his current condition, let alone last through the investiture and the return journey. Therefore, with the encouragement of the Vulcan elders, we are proceeding to Shi'masu at maximum warp.”

Uhura blanched, her eyes widening in surprise at his words. A quick scan of the rest of the Bridge crew showed similar reactions on their faces, though a few were nodding as though they had suspected it was that bad. “Captain?” Uhura gasped.

“Send it, Lieutenant. That's an order,” Jim snapped before handing over his post and stalking off the Bridge.

Uhura appeared at the door of the turbolift just in time to slip between the doors before they shut.

“Did you send that message already, Lieutenant?” he snapped harshly at her pale face as he paused the lift.

“Captain,” she said worriedly. “Jim, do you really think Spock could die?”

“A Vulcan in pon farr who doesn't mate or fight for a mate within eight days dies,” he said harshly. “And the fight isn't always enough.” A corner of his conscience pointed out he should be more gentle, but most of him was angry at her for putting his friend at risk.

“Spock just said he'd hit sexual maturity. He never said anything about it killing him,” Uhura protested.

“Then either you didn't ask the right questions or you didn't let him explain. Vulcan sexual maturity is complex, dangerous, and highly embarrassing.” Jim let out a huff of air. “It's the one time when they lose control of their emotions, and after the first time it happens every seven years. That's why mature Vulcans are always married.”

“How do you know this?” she demanded. “We were together for years and Spock never mentioned this. It's not in any record I've seen on Vulcan.”

“They don't talk about it,” Jim admitted, struggling to calm himself. “Even their children rarely know what to expect in anything but general terms. I found out by accident. It's a long, complicated story, and you don't have high enough clearance.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered, seeming to fold in on herself. “Why didn't he tell me it was so dangerous?”

“Because he wanted you to make a logical choice, not one driven by worry,” Jim admitted. “I asked.”

“I could still ...” she began, but he cut her off.

“I'll ask him,” he offered, “but you've already refused for good reasons. I don't know that he'll accept a change of mind at this point. He's not being all that logical. He's too deep into the condition.”

“But,” she protested, tears building in her eyes.

“I'm not going to let him die,” he hissed. “But for that I need you to send that message to Starfleet and inform me if we get anything else from Shi'masu. I'll talk to Spock, but I need you to do your job until he decides.”

That got through, at least somewhat, and she dashed the tears from her eyes. “Yes, Captain,” she said softly, turning around and triggering the doors to let her back out on the Bridge.

As soon as she was gone, and the doors closed again, Jim collapsed into the wall of the lift with a pained sigh. Damn Spock for not telling her the whole truth. And damn him too for going off like that when she was in earshot. He was an idiot.

~o0o~

Jim found Bones hunched over a PADD in his office, shoveling food distractedly into his mouth as he read. The doctor looked up as Jim came in, his eyes quickly taking in his captain's expression and interpreting it correctly as only a longtime friend could.

“What did you do this time?”

Jim chuckled and collapsed into the chair across the desk from his friend. “I might have blown up at Starfleet and mentioned that Spock will be lucky to make it to Shi'masu even at the speed we're going now.”

Bones raised one eyebrow, a trick he'd learned all too well from Spock. “And? That's the truth.”

“I might have done it while Uhura was still at the comm,” Jim admitted in embarrassment.

“Good,” Bones said firmly. “Spock should have told her the truth. Now she knows.”

“She wants to ask Spock for another chance,” Jim added, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.

Bones harrumphed. “Don't think she deserves it, but might as well ask.”

“I told her I'd bring it up.”

“Leave the man alone,” Bones ordered. “I'm checking on him in a couple hours. I'll bring it up.”

Jim looked at his friend with curious appraisal. “You going soft on me, Bones? Since when do you offer to help out like that?”

“Just don't want any more stress on him than we have to provide,” Bones grumbled. “His numbers look better this afternoon, but he's not improving as much as I want. Before I got those med recs from the Vulcans I'd been wondering if he'd last out the day. Now ...”

Jim sat up straight, deeply concerned at Bones' words. “It's really that bad? Already?”

“I'm exchanging records with a Vulcan healer, but he agrees,” Bones said apologetically. “Even with the medication, I'm not sure Spock'll last two days, let alone three and change.”

“Damn it!” Jim snapped. “If Uhura hadn't been so practical … There's got to be someone on this ship he'd find acceptable.”

“I'm going to ask that too, though I dislike the stress it'll probably induce,” Bones said. “The documents your ambassador sent include mention of … um ...” He flipped through the screens on the PADD for a moment. “Rel-san-vek. It's some kind of divorce ritual, so it's not like this has to be absolutely permanent no matter what that green blooded hobgoblin implied.”

“Rel-san-vek,” Jim muttered to himself. So divorce was possible. Maybe, just maybe there was an option in that. “You'll discuss it with him?”

“In two hours,” Bones promised, checking the nearest chrono. “I want to keep my visits regular to minimize disruptions.”

“Please tell me you have some way of remotely checking on him?” Jim pleaded.

Bones pointed at a readout on his desk that showed heart rate, respiration, and several other esoteric measurements. “Rigged that when I let him go back to his quarters. I'm going to get him through the next three days if I have to bed him myself.”

Jim raised an eyebrow of his own at that pronouncement. “Why, Bones, I didn't know you felt that way about Spock.”

“Don't give me that, kid,” Bones snapped, and Jim knew just how deep he'd hit. Bones almost never called him kid anymore. “I just don't want to lose a patient.”

“If you say so,” Jim replied teasingly.

“Eh, get out, you. Eat and rest before you collapse too,” Bones ordered.

“Yes, doc,” Jim said, snapping off a salute as he stood. But he paused on his way out and turned back. “If you need to bring another doctor in, someone to spell you ...”

“I've asked Christine to spell me, but all I told her was what to look for. She's got another readout.”

“All right. Good thinking, Bones.”

~o0o~

Spock's frustration levels were rising. He had turned the ventilators as low as he dared, all but cutting them off in his main room to minimize the air currents. He had dispensed with the fire pot as the heat differential was inducing difficulties, shed his shirt because it rubbed his feathers, and tried every meditation pose he'd ever studied. Still, he could not clear his mind. Pon farr's progression was rapid, impossibly so. His veins burned with fire, filling his mind with its roar. He could not escape the throbbing that seemed to begin in his feathers and radiated through the rest of his body.

So entrapped in his frustration, Spock didn't know if he was relieved or angry when he heard the door slide open.

“Time for more medication,” Dr. McCoy announced. This time Spock did not bother to rise from his meditative pose. Holding still was more important than how he appeared before the doctor.

The hypo pressed quickly against his neck and the tricorder created a breeze as Dr. McCoy used it's more accurate sensors to check his condition. The only reason he held still against the stimulus was the improvement from the medication rushing through his veins.

“I still don't like your numbers,” Dr. McCoy said.

“But they have improved,” Spock said firmly.

“Somewhat,” the doctor conceded grudgingly. “But Shi'masu is still a long way away.”

“I am aware of the timeline of our voyage,” Spock said, struggling more than he wanted to admit to keep his voice level.

“Spock,” Dr. McCoy protested. “Look, is there anyone you would consider for koon-ut-so'lik? Male? Female? Something else? What are your requirements? I don't like your chances of surviving the journey.”

“Gender is irrelevant. I will not disrupt someone else's life because an accident has disrupted my mating cycle,” Spock said, his tone sharper than he'd meant it to be.

“Uhura knows you're dying,” Dr. McCoy said quickly. “Jim let it slip. She expressed hope you might give her a second chance.”

“She made a logical decision,” Spock insisted. “She should not allow sentiment to change her mind.”

“Damn it, Spock,” Dr. McCoy snapped. “You shouldn't have to die because a transporter hiccup disrupted your mating cycle.”

Spock identified the mocking element to the doctor's choice of words and tone, but he also caught the undertone that he had come to identify as worry. “Doctor, do not worry yourself in this. It is my choice to wait. While almost any mate is acceptable to sooth the drives of pon farr, I will not permit my biology to trap an unprepared partner in a relationship.”

Dr. McCoy glared. “Ambassador Selek sent a lot of information my way, and I've read all of it. You Vulcans do have a form of divorce, so don't tell me that this a lifelong bond that you'd be trapping someone in.”

“Doctor,” Spock said, struggling to remain calm in the face of the doctor's challenging tone. “It is not the length of the relationship that concerns me. If those files are complete, then they mention that in addition to the physical requirements of mating it is necessary to forge a mental bond.”

“I saw mention of that,” Dr. McCoy admitted.

“Vulcans are prepared from childhood for this bonding. Nyota and I have shared some mental communication which would have made the bonding easier on her, but it still would have been difficult. The mating bond shares everything, experiences, memories, dreams. There is no one on this ship with experience in that level of union. Without proper preparation, the experience could be quite traumatic, and what is shared will not be forgotten simply because the bond is broken. I will not cause such trauma to any of my shipmates, no matter what the consequences will be to me.”

Dr. McCoy sat silently for several minutes, his features shifting through a number of expressions as he considered Spock's words. Finally, he seemed to settle on grudging admiration and a good measure of frustration. “All right, I get your point. I don't like it, but I get it. You sure you won't give Uhura another chance?”

“She made a reasonable decision when we spoke,” Spock insisted again, though part of him protested letting such an excellent potential mate slip through his fingers. “I do not wish her to change her decision because of what amounts to emotional blackmail. Captain Kirk should not have told her.”

“He shouldn't have had to,” Dr. McCoy protested. “You should have told her the truth.”

“I did,” Spock said, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember just what he had said. “At no time did I lie. I just did not tell her every detail.”

“Like that this could kill you? Given your propensity for giving every detail in a report, no matter how irrelevant, from you such an omission is tantamount to a lie.”

“If you insist, Doctor,” Spock conceded, though he did not agree. He was in no state to develop a proper argument. Right now, he was not entirely certain that his refusal of Nyota was not an emotional reaction to her rejection of him.

“Fine, whatever. Get some rest, or as close to rest as you can manage in your condition,” Dr. McCoy ordered. “I'll see you in four hours.”

“There is no need to disrupt your rest,” Spock offered.

Dr. McCoy just shot him a sharp look and repeated, “I'll see you in four hours,” before leaving.  


[Chapter 7](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79317.html)


	7. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 7

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 6](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79102.html)

Jim had almost asked Bones for a sleeping aid. It had been a hell of a day, and the next few days promised to be no better. He needed the rest, but he resisted asking because he hated being groggy when an emergency came up in the middle of the night. It turned out that he made the right choice when someone came banging at his door in the middle of his night cycle.

Jim stumbled to his feet calling out, “Come in.” He had learned early on in his captaincy the importance of never being caught with his pants down in an emergency, literally or metaphorically, and that experience had broken any urge to sleep in the nude. However, he still couldn't stand sleeping in a shirt. The collar always ended up strangling him. Therefore, he was standing sleepily in the doorway wearing only a pair of pants when Scotty came in.

“When did you last sleep, Mr. Scott?” Jim asked, taking in the slightly wilder than usual manic energy the man emitted.

“Um … not quite sure, Captain,” Scotty said after a moment's thought. “I've been monitorin' the engines, and I think I may ha' sorted out wha' happened to Mr. Spock.”

“Do tell,” Jim prompted, collapsing into a chair and running a hand through his sleep mussed hair.

“I couldn't find anythin' in the equipment,” Scotty began, proffering a PADD. “Dr. McCoy and some of the scientists ha' been checkin' the samples brought up from Sardina III, and they ran a full check on Mr. Spock's DNA. Lieutenant Han seems ta ha' found'n answer.”

On the screen of the PADD were two DNA strands. Neither looked particularly familiar to Jim, but there were similarities highlighted between the two.

“There's somethin' in the local life that seems to have an attractive property to other DNA. A feather must'a been stuck to his shirt, or caugh' in the transporter beam. The attractive property caused a glitch in the pattern buffers tha' blended the feather's DNA with Mr. Spock's. He's lucky it was a feather and no' a flower or seed. If a crewman had come up carrying a plant sample ...”

“Sounds like a miracle no one was hurt worse,” Jim said with a shudder.

“Aye, Captain. I'm preparin' a report for Starfleet. Until we can reprogram the transporters to block that attractive trait, no one can transport from Sardina III.”

“Are we sure this stuff is contained?” Jim didn't want to think about anything from that planet wandering through the air ducts of his ship.

“We used full decon measures on the away teams, and all samples have been kept contained,” Scotty assured him. “Any possible leak is bein' treated like a chemical spill.”

“Good to hear it,” Jim said, letting out a small sigh of relief. “So, now that you know what happened, any chance of fixing Spock?”

“Well, that's a mite tricky,” Scotty hedged, looking nervously away. “Theoretically, I might be able to reprogram the transporter's pattern buffer to clean out the additions from Sardina III ...”

“Except?” Jim prompted when Scotty trailed off, his muscles tensing as if in preparation for a fight. He knew this wasn't something he could fix with his fists, but it was a habit he hadn't managed to break yet.

“Well, Mr. Spock's DNA is rather unique already. I'm not sure … If he were pure Vulcan we could pro'ly make a guess, but with his hybrid mixture I couldn't be sure I was pullin' out the right bits … Not for certain. If I had a sample to compare to ...”

Jim felt his heart sink for a moment, but then he realized the answer. Leaning back he let out a laugh. “If you had a sample of Spock's DNA from before the change, you think you could do it?”

“Aye,” Scotty said, looking more than a mite confused. “But I already asked the doc. There's no sample in the system, and Mr. Spock has had his quarters cleaned since.”

“Ah, but we're going to Shi'masu, and they have a perfect sample waiting for us,” Jim said excitedly.

“Captain,” Scotty protested, “I've considered that, but Ambassador Sarek only provides half the sample. Even if Mr. Spock's mother was still alive I wouldn't feel confident trying to make a guess at how the DNA combined. If I pull the wrong bits out, I'll kill him.”

Jim grinned. “But I'm not talking about Ambassador Sarek. Remember that Vulcan you met on Delta Vega?”

“The one who claimed t' be a time traveler?” Scotty asked. “He's related t' Mr. Spock?”

“He is Spock,” Jim corrected. “From an alternate universe one hundred and twenty-nine, er, twenty-seven years from now.”

“How can you be sure they're identical?” Scotty asked, starting to sound excited.

“The universes split apart when the Narada arrived and destroyed the USS Kelvin twenty-seven years ago,” Jim said. “Spock was born before then, therefore both Spocks should be identical on the genetic level.”

“That does make sense,” Scotty agreed.

“So, can you do it?” Jim asked.

“Aye … I think … I started some initial calculations before I realized I dinna have the sample needed … I'll start putting a model together soon as I get back to Engineerin'.” Scotty was already tapping equations into the PADD.

“Get some sleep first,” Jim ordered. “I want that model perfect, and you're exhausted.”

“Aye, you may have a point,” Scotty conceded just before yawning hugely.

The comm interrupted just then. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

Jim slapped the comm button on his desk. “Kirk here.”

“Admirals Pike and Mobatsu wish to speak with you sir,” the comms officer on gamma shift announced.

“Pipe them down to my quarters,” Jim ordered and shuffled back into his bedroom quickly to grab a shirt. When Scotty made to leave, Jim waved him back, planting the engineer behind his shoulder. Admiral Pike might respect Jim, but Admiral Mobatsu had a chip in his shoulder when it came to the Enterprise's captain and he needed all the backup he could get. Someone had to distract the jerk from going after Spock and Uhura's relationship. Again.

“Admirals?” Jim said politely as the screen on his desk lit up. “What can I do for you tonight?” he added in explanation for his sleep tousled hair and wrinkled shirt. He wouldn't be surprised to find out that Admiral Mobatsu had chosen this hour to call because he knew it would be inconvenient for Jim. That man was always looking for an opening

“Jim, we're comming about that message you sent to Starfleet a few hours ago,” Admiral Pike began politely. “You've rather stirred up a few people with the way you phrased things.”

“I'm sorry about that, Admiral,” Jim said, though he wasn't sorry in the least. “I just don't see how I'm supposed to arrive at the Delgasian investiture and explain to them that one of the people they specifically requested attend couldn't be there because we let him die in order to arrive on time.”

“Captain, I do not like your tone,” Admiral Mobatsu snapped. “There was no such thing implied in your initial communication.”

“I was not yet aware as to the exact extent of Commander Spock's condition, but I did report it was a medical emergency,” Jim countered peevishly. The admiral existed to get on Jim's last nerve. “If you needed more information, you should have asked before ordering me to disregard the condition of a fellow officer.”

“Captain,” Admiral Pike said in a tone that ordered Jim to calm down. This wasn't his first time playing buffer between the two. “Admiral. Perhaps we should get some details about the Commander's condition before we go jumping to conclusions.”

“Mr. Scott was just informing me he's finally sorted out what happened,” Jim said, turning slightly towards the engineer. “Perhaps you could explain to the Admirals what you just told me.”

Jim leaned back and tried not to smirk as Scotty snowed the Admirals under a million facts. The engineer was happy enough to ramble on in excruciating detail, and Jim did nothing to stop him. He decided to wait until the Admirals caved.

“Yes, yes, that's all very well.” Admiral Mobatsu caved first, a full five minutes later than Jim expected. “Sardina III will be placed under quarantine. But that does not explain how this malfunction has put Commander Spock's life at risk. It sounds to me as thought the transformation is stable.”

“The transformation has triggered a condition which sometime affects the Vulcan people. The details are very personal, very private to the Vulcans,” Jim hedged. “Normally death occurs if treatment is not provided within eight days. Unfortunately, and Dr. McCoy has confirmation from the Vulcan healers, the transformation has sped up the progress of the commander's condition. Spock'll be lucky to last another two days to reach Shi'masu.”

“If this is such a private condition, how are you and your doctor aware of it?” Admiral Mobatsu demanded.

“Dr. McCoy has been monitoring Commander Spock's condition carefully since the transporter malfunction and noticed the initial physical changes that indicated something was wrong. We contacted Shi'masu for assistance and received special dispensation to learn the details,” Jim prevaricated. “If you want to know more specifics, you'll have to contact the Vulcans. All that really matters is Commander Spock will die if we don't get him proper treatment in the next few days.”

“You said it's not even certain that Commander Spock will live to reach Shi'masu,” Admiral Pike said.

“Are you saying that because we can't be sure I should just assume he won't make it?” Jim asked angrily.

“I don't want to,” Admiral Pike said. “Commander Spock is an excellent officer and I remember him fondly from our time working together. But to risk an interplanetary incident over something so uncertain ...”

“Admiral, how much do you know about the Delgasians?” Jim asked, barely keeping from trying to reach through that screen and throttle the one man in the admiralty he'd though it safe to consider a friend.

“I've done some research,” Admiral Pike admitted.

“Then perhaps you are aware of the extensive importance Delgasians put on clan, on the warriors who fight by your side?” Jim said pointedly. “They question the sanity of most races in the Federation, and have in fact spoken out about negotiating with the Klingons instead of the Federation because at least the Klingons respect the warrior bond and the importance of honor. Do you really think it will aid our negotiations if I tell their leaders that I let my officer, my fellow hero from the battle against Nero, die, didn't even try to save him, because I felt it was more important to arrive on time?”

“That is quite enough,” Admiral Mobatsu snapped, slapping one hand against the table before him. “You have no right to dictate Starfleet policy ...”

Admiral Pike cut Mobatsu off with a hand on his arm. “Dictate, no, but Captain Kirk does have a good point when it comes to the Delgasians. Our reasons for sending the Enterprise was in part to try and convince the Delgasians not to make an alliance with the Klingons. They respect the Enterprise because its crew has proven themselves in battle. They will respect us more if we delay to try and save Commander Spock than if we hurry to be on time.”

Admiral Mobatsu glared at Admiral Pike. “Fine, but I want confirmation of this mysterious condition from the Vulcans,” he finally snapped.

“I'm sure Ambassador Sarek or Ambassador Selek would be happy to assist you,” Jim offered. That got an odd look from both Admirals.

“I would not dare consider interrupting such important members of the Vulcan government,” Admiral Mobatsu said looking quite appalled.

“I think they would be quite insulted if you did not, if Vulcans can feel insulted,” Jim countered. “Ambassador Sarek is Commander Spock's father ...”

“And you are personally acquainted with Ambassador Selek,” Admiral Pike interrupted, glancing at Admiral Mobatsu as he waved at Jim not to say anything further. Apparently Admiral Mobatsu didn't have clearance for that story. Interesting.

“He is family as well,” Jim said simply. “A … cousin I believe.”

“Ah, yes, a cousin,” Admiral Pike said with a look of relief. “We'll contact Shi'masu and get back to ...”

Admiral Pike was cut off by a communication beep from his personal comm. “Admiral, T'Pau of Vulcan High Council is requesting the presence of the Enterprise immediately.”

“Why tell me?” Admiral Pike asked curiously.

“The communication was seconded to you by order of an Ambassador Selek.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Pike said before shutting off his communicator and shooting a significant glance at Jim. “Seems you do have friends in high places,” he said.

“Is that sufficient to authorize my decision to head for Shi'masu?” Jim asked.

“I doubt anyone will willingly refuse T'Pau, even now,” Admiral Pike said, a curl to his lips. “You'll get you official orders soon, but assume it will be what you wanted.”

Admiral Mobatsu looked livid but refrained from protesting. It seemed even he wasn't inclined to argue with T'Pau.

“Thank you, sir,” Jim said formally. “Kirk out.” He cut off the connection with a sigh of relief and slumped back into his chair.

“I assume I dinna actually hear a lot o' that,” Scotty said dryly.

“Probably best,” Jim agreed.

“Fair enough. I'll get some sleep and then get on that model,” Scotty said, patting Jim on the shoulder.

“Good choice,” Jim said, pushing himself to his feet. “I'll get some more sleep myself.”

~o0o~

Spock was aware of the passing of time. Counting the seconds as they passed was the only technique that had brought him enough peace to calm his mind and body in the slightest. It gave a small illusion of control that made him feel that he had a chance of surviving until they reached Shi'masu. Though he logically knew that it had been only thirty-two hours since Captain Kirk had identified his condition, subjectively it felt as though a week or more had passed.

Aware as he was of the exact passage of each increment of time, Spock was prepared when Dr. McCoy arrived on schedule for another check up. He did not bother speaking as the doctor stuck him with another hypo and used his tricorder, just waited. Spock knew that he had improved slightly with the use of the medications suggested by the Vulcan healers and finding a meditation that assisted in modulating his condition. He did not need Dr. McCoy's instruments to tell him his condition.

He did not need Dr. McCoy to tell him it was not enough.

Dr. McCoy's voice finally broke the silence. “The medication isn't working as well as it was yesterday.”

“The documents from Shi'masu said that was likely.” Spock was startled at how dry his voice was. While the temperature in his quarters was higher than usual and he had not partaken of water in some time, that was a condition Vulcans rarely suffered from. Perhaps this was a factor influenced by his human heritage.

“We're more than two days from Shi'masu … Spock, I don't know if you're gonna make it that long. Will you reconsider Nyota's offer?”

Spock did not bother replying. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _One. Two . Three ..._

Dr. McCoy left at one hundred and fifty.

~o0o~

Once Jim woke up again at the proper time, his first stop was Sickbay. He cornered Bones immediately, though the doctor looked like he'd slept even more poorly than Jim. “How is he?”

“I don't know,” Bones snapped, slapping down his PADD in frustration. “His numbers are bouncing back and forth. Every time I medicate him things get better, but not as good and not for as long. It's like his system is building a resistance to the drugs.”

“Already?” Jim asked.

“Sorry,” Bone said, deflating slightly. “I don't like it either, but I've tried every variation the Vulcan healers have given me. I'm trading medical data with them constantly to the consternation of our communications officers and they've all decided that there's nothing else to be done.”

“Damn it, Bones, that's not acceptable,” Jim snapped, turning to pace in the small space of Bones' office.

Bones grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a chair. “Now, Jim, I don't like it any more than you do, but _medically_ I'm running out of options. That doesn't mean we're completely out of options, just that there is a limit to what else I can do. As a doctor.”

Jim stared at his friends, mulling those words over carefully. He was known for his tendency to jump in feet first and sort out the details later, but he had a feeling that wasn't an option this time. He needed to think. Medically there wasn't anything more Bones could do.

“Did you ask him about Uhura?” Jim finally asked.

“Yep,” Bones said with a sigh. “And he made it clear he wasn't sure he'd done the right thing asking her at all.”

“What?” Jim protested. “Why not?”

Bone steepled his hands under his chin in a thoughtful pose he'd picked up recently from Spock. “He pointed out that the mental bond is a big part of taking a mate, and as there are no other compatible telepathic races on this ship, no one here is prepared to deal with that bond. He's afraid he'll traumatize or injure anyone who tries to bond with him. Not to mention that even if they divorce there will still be all the shared memories to deal with.”

Jim wanted to protest, to call that absurd and illogical, but he couldn't. Spock had a point, a logical and good one. But there had to be a way around it.

Well, if there was one, Jim Kirk was the one to find it. That, or he'd get Spock to Shi'masu. Either way, he was not about to lose his first officer, his friend.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Jim muttered. “Thanks Bones. Keep me informed on Spock's condition.” He stood. It was time for him to be on the Bridge.

“Will do, Jim,” Bones replied, collapsing back into his chair with an exhausted look that Jim sympathized with all too well.

~o0o~

Being on the Bridge should have been a relief. It was work, it was a distraction. Unfortunately, it was all the wrong distractions. Uhura keep looking at Jim with a nervous and frantic look in her eyes. The rest of the crew had a distracted and worried air that meant they were wondering if they were going to make it to Shi'masu fast enough to save their first officer. Add in the engineering crew who wandered about looking nervously at engine readings and the atmosphere on the Bridge was anything but relaxing.

In an attempt to ignore it all, Jim pulled out the PADD where he'd loaded the info Ambassador Spock had sent and started reading, pausing only when a yeoman asked him to sign something.

The one good thing was that mid shift Uhura had informed him, “Starfleet has ordered us to proceed to Shi'masu at maximum speed and then on to the Delgaisan system once Commander Spock is stable again.”

Well, that took long enough. Maybe Admiral Mobatsu had been pulling strings in the background after all, trying delaying tactics or something. “Glad they're finally seeing reason,” Jim grumbled. Sulu gave him an odd look, but Jim just snapped, “You have your orders, Mr. Sulu,” and went back to his reading. There had to be a something in there he could use to help Spock.

~o0o~

The next communication to come to Jim's attention came conveniently right at the end of his shift. Jim handed the Bridge to his relief and took the call in his ready room.

“Ambassador?” Jim said, surprised to see Ambassador Spock on the screen.

“I have seen the updates from Dr. McCoy,” Spock said. “I had a … hunch you might wish to speak.”

Jim chuckled. “You know me too well, old friend.”

“Experience is a good teacher,” Spock agreed. “How are you … holding up?”

Jim scrubbed his hands over his face and melted back into his chair. “Could be better,” he admitted. “Though Scotty says he might be able to fix the wing thing if we can keep Spock alive long enough to reach you.”

“I received a message from him. I will be happy to offer a DNA sample to help out.”

“Thank you.”

“It is logical.”

Jim laughed. “There is nothing logical about this whole situation,” he countered.

The corner of Spock's lips quirked up in a hint of a smile. “That is true.”

“Spock ... you probably know Spock better than I do. Is there any way I can convince him ...” Jim stopped, reassessing his choice of words. “Is there anyone on this ship that you know of that he might consider ...?”

“You wish to find him a bondmate,” Spock said, not asking so much as verbalizing what Jim could not.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed. “I don't want him to die.”

“My relationship with my crew mates was not the same as his relationship with you all now. Too many things have changed.”

“Surely you have some idea,” Jim pleaded. “Uhura's begging for a second chance but Spock says no.”

“Her reasons for refusing were logical,” Spock said pointedly.

Jim rolled his eyes. “That's what he said when Bones asked. When I asked if he would accept anyone else, he just said he wouldn't accept someone unprepared and unknowing, and when Bones asked he said he feared traumatizing someone inexperienced with telepathic communication.”

“It sounds as though he has laid out his requirements. You can compare those requirements with a list of the crew and eliminate those who do not fit.”

“That doesn't sound like much help,” Jim grumbled. He was trying to make sense of the look on Spock's face. It was one he had never seen before on a Vulcan, or half-Vulcan as the case may be. He felt like he was missing something that should be obvious. “You couldn't just suggest a few names?”

“You are smarter than you pretend to be, my friend,” Spock said, and this time Jim recognized the hint of a smile. “I have faith you will find a solution.”

“I hope you're right.”

~o0o~

Scotty stopped by Jim's quarters again, though this time he timed his arrival not to fall while Jim was trying to sleep. Jim was just rereading the files on pon farr and quickly invited the engineer in.

“I'm just here for an update,” Scotty told him hurriedly. “The model's looking good, but some of the plasma conduits don't look so hot. Or rather they look too hot.”

“How bad?” Jim asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Not bad enough we have t' stop,” Scotty assured him. “In fact, I'd like to keep going as long as possible. The numbers we're getting will help us redesign the conduits to handle the greater load.”

“Do you think it'll get us to Shi'masu?”

“Not sure, Captain. Pretty near, I'm hopin', but I canna make promises a' this point.”

“Damn,” Jim muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“I know how important this is,” Scotty assured him. “We're all doin' the best we can.”

“I know, Scotty. I know,” Jim reassured him. “I'm just scared we're running out of options.”

Scotty couldn't reply to that, and Jim couldn't blame him. Being captain of a starship was a pain and a half on a good day. On a bad day it was impossible. This was shaping up to be a very bad week.

“Well, keep going as long as you dare,” Jim ordered, “but stop or slow down if we have to. No use killing anyone else to try and save one person.”

“Aye, Captain,” Scotty said sadly.

~o0o~

Jim tried to sleep, he knew he needed it, but he just found himself tossing and turning. Giving up, he dressed and headed out.

In the corridor, he paused in front of Spock's door. He wanted to talk to his friend, ask advice from the logical well who'd been his support since becoming captain. But that wasn't an option tonight. Spock was in no state to proffer advice on this matter, and even if his logic weren't disrupted by pon farr this was likely a matter for which he'd have no suggestions to make. But Jim still missed his friend's voice. He couldn't even just go in to talk to Spock since the door was locked on Bone's authorization to ensure no one disturbed the Vulcan while he struggled to stay alive.

Finally Jim tore himself away from the door. If he walked the corridors for long then he'd run into someone, and they might call Bones. Bones would order him back to his room and dose him up. Yes, he needed sleep, but right now it seemed he needed to think.

Think. There had to be a solution, a way to save Spock. Maybe they'd make it to Shi'masu in time. Maybe. But just in case, Jim needed another plan. He didn't believe in no-win situations. The engines might overheat, or Spock's condition might deteriorate further. There had to be another option.

To avoid the rest of the crew, Jim headed to an observation deck. The view of the stars rushing past at warp speed was soothing and Jim sprawled in a chair to watch.

With his eyes on the stars and his body relaxed, Jim set his mind to Ambassador Spock's words earlier. He appreciated the older man's trust, but wished that just once the other Spock had chosen to speak in something other than riddles. Well, if he really did have the right variables …

Spock, his Spock, had said he wanted someone who understood what they were getting into. He was the only Vulcan on the ship, so that was out. If Jim remembered the roster's and histories he'd studied in the two years since he was granted command, none of his crew had even had much experience with Vulcans beyond their first officer. So that was out. But Jim knew, both from the documents he'd been reading and from the memories that Ambassador Spock left behind. And Bones knew because of what he'd been reading. And Uhura knew because Spock had told her, or at least some of it. Maybe. So that left him three people.

Factor two that Spock had requested was someone familiar with telepathic contact. The only other telepath on the ship was a Deltan engineer, and her oath of celibacy was on file. Jim doubted she'd even consider the matter as it was well known that Deltan's considered most other races as sexually immature. Humans were in that list, and Jim had a feeling Vulcans were too.

Jim couldn't remember any references to any crew members having interactions with telepaths, other than the Vulcans rescued during the battle with the Narada. He could take another look, but he doubted he'd find anything helpful. That just left Uhura, probably, and Jim himself.

And Spock said no about Uhura.

Jim shifted uneasily in the chair as he realized what he was left with.

Damn. Bones and himself. Well, really himself. He was the only one with telepathic experience, and what an experience. Well, it was an option.

Wait, what about gender … was gender a factor? The files from Shi'masu hadn't said anything about it, but Spock might have a preference. Except survival was the goal, so maybe not. It wasn't like Jim expected to be a perfect, lifelong mate. He just needed someone to keep Spock alive for now. So, in that case, the question really was, was this an option Jim was willing to take? After all, Uhura had been in a relationship with Spock for two odd years and still wasn't ready to be married. Was Jim?

He cared about Spock. He considered his first officer a dear friend, maybe someone he might call a brother. In time. They had known each other two years. From having started out as enemies they had come a long way, with a few nudges from the good ambassador. But while divorce might be possible, it would only be after the potential damage was done. Could he let Spock go digging through his brain while they fucked for a day or two? Could he open himself up that completely? It could completely change their relationship, depending on how Spock viewed what he found. Would it ruin the future?

It was a struggle, but he tried to think about the matter logically and ignore the fact that he'd never nailed a Vulcan before. He was a serious Starfleet captain now and that list he'd started back in Iowa was irrelevant.

Spock was important to Jim. That was a fact that could not be discounted, could not be denied. It wasn't logical, but it was fact. Jim just had to decide whether he could better live with bonding with his best friend and maybe losing him, or letting him die and definitely losing him.  


[Chapter 8](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79510.html)


	8. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 8

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 7](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79317.html)

Jim stumbled back to his quarters to get a few hours sleep without coming to a decision. Exhaustion drew him into sleep, but not as deeply as he needed. He was troubled with dreams, memories of a life he didn't live. Apparently his contemplations earlier had stirred up the other Jim Kirk's memories of mind melds and Vulcan mysticism.

It was a relief when it finally came time to get up. He escaped from the dreams, Scotty hadn't called to tell him the engines had blown yet, and, with any luck, they were within fourteen hours of Shi'masu. Maybe he wouldn't have to make a decision.

All the same, just in case, he tucked a packet of lube in his pocket as he dressed.

He headed out to get an update from Bones, but ran into Uhura in the hall, literally.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” he asked politely as they stepped apart.

She looked at him nervously for a moment before answering. “Can I speak with you privately for a moment, Captain?”

Jim waved her back into his quarters and followed her in. “What can I do for you?”

“Jim ... did you talk to Spock?” she asked urgently.

He sighed. “I didn't ...” She squeaked in protest. “Dr. McCoy did,” he assured her. “He's not letting anyone else near right now. Spock's holding it together by the skin of his teeth last I heard. I was heading for an update now.”

“But ... I could fix that,” Uhura said pleadingly. “You have to convince him to let me help him.”

“Uhura ... Nyota, I've heard his arguments for why he won't ask anyone else, and Bones told me his argument for why not you either, and I understand.” Jim sighed and tried to figure out how to convince her of something he didn't believe either. “I may not agree with him, but I respect his decision and I'm not going to just force someone on him.”

“But I want to help him.” She looked on the edge of tears.

“He gave you his arguments, tempered towards you making a logical choice instead of an emotional one. You said no,” Jim reminded her. “He can't seem to see past that. He doesn't want you to choose to marry him out of desperation.”

“I love him,” she cried.

“And yet you said no,” Jim snapped back, running out of patience.

“I thought we would reassess after, when we were both thinking straighter.”

“Then you didn't ask the right questions,” Jim said.

“Even when I said that he didn't tell me this would kill him.” Tears filled her eyes.

Even so, Jim didn't find it hard to stay angry. “I'm sorry. I don't know exactly what you two said to each other, I just know that as long as he keeps saying no I'm going to try and respect that decision. He's trying to protect you in his own way.”

“How? How does letting himself die protect me?”

“He's afraid he'll hurt a non-Vulcan when initiating the mating bond,” Jim said with a shrug. “Or so Bones told me.”

“Damn that stubborn, stuck up, green-blooded ...”

Jim couldn't help it. He laughed, startling her into silence. “You sound like you've been spending too much time with Dr. McCoy. I'm sorry. Look, you can talk to the doc, see if he'll let you talk to Spock, make your arguments. But you'd better make them firm and logical because he's going to fight you. And if McCoy says no, the answer is no.”

“I ... I understand, Captain,” Uhura replied.

“Now, I'm heading down to Sickbay now. You want to come with?”

“Please. Thank you,” she answered, and followed him out of the room and down the corridor.

They walked together in silence until they reached Sickbay. Bones was in his office, hunched over what Jim recognized as the readout with Spock's stats.

“How's he doing?” Jim asked as he stepped in.

“I don't know,” Bones replied without looking up. “His numbers are all over the place. So far the meds are still helping, but barely. And his numbers go higher every time the meds wear off.”

“Fourteen hours,” Jim said, as it was the only reassurance he had.

“Damn it, Jim, I'm not sure he'll last ten,” Bones snapped, slamming his hand into his desk and looking up. The words were barely out of his mouth when he froze. He'd spotted Uhura. He glared at Jim, clearly thinking Jim should have warned him.

Jim shot him an apologetic look. “Nyota wants to talk to Spock.”

“No,” Bones replied. “I'm almost afraid to interrupt now. Every moment he's not meditating his hormones spike. I'd recommend transporting him directly from his quarters to the surface at this point.”

“Even if I could help him?” Uhura pleaded.

“He made it pretty damned clear to me yesterday that he didn't consider that an option,” Bones snarked.

“Doctor, please.”

“Lieutenant,” Jim snapped.

That was as much warning as she needed. Uhura straightened up and reigned in her emotions. “I'm sorry, Doctor. I will report to my shift on the Bridge now.”

Jim and Bones watched in silence as she left.

“You couldn't have warned me?” Bones snapped once the door shut behind her.

“Sorry, Bones. She wanted to know anyway,” Jim replied with a shrug. “And your authority was the only way I could think of to get her to back off.”

“Thanks,” Bones said sarcastically. “It's good to know I'm useful to you in some way.”

“Bones, don't be like that,” Jim teased, but he couldn't maintain the mood. “I'm sorry. I tried to explain, but I just wanted to punch her for turning Spock down in the first place.”

“I understand,” Bones admitted, scrubbing one hand over his unshaven face. “I'm not much happier with her. I'd rather not be going though this for that pointy eared pain in my ass.”

“I know,” Jim said with a sad smile. The enmity between Spock and Bones was amusing most days, but in the end they always stood together. “Thank you for trying all the same.”

“I really don't know if he's going to make it,” Bone said unhappily, tapping his readout screen. “His numbers are rising so fast ... His systems are going to start shutting down soon.”

“Fourteen hours,” Jim repeated, his mind turning it into something of a mantra. “We just need fourteen hours.”

“I'm trying, Jim, but at this point it's up to him.”

Jim sighed, and slapped Bones on the shoulder as he stood. “Do what you can. I'll be on the Bridge if anything changes.”

~o0o~

Jim was only three hours into his Bridge shift – eleven hours to Shi'masu, eleven hours to Shi'masu – when Bones walked onto the Bridge with his 'I'm a doctor, damn it, and this is serious' expression on his face.

Bones walked straight up to Jim and whispered in his ear, “I need a second opinion.”

Jim shot him a confused look but decided it wasn't worth asking there. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn,” he ordered and followed Bones of the Bridge.

“All right, what's going on?” he asked once they were alone in the turbolift.

“You've seen a Vulcan in pon farr before, or at least have the memories of someone who has,” Bones grumbled. “That's got advantages over just having read a few files, which is all I have. I just went in to check on him and ... well, I'm worried.”

“That doesn't tell me much,” Jim replied before directing the lift to the officer's quarters.

“Just ... His levels have stabilized, but too high. When I dosed him nothing changed. I'd think it's plak tow, but he's still talking. Not well, but talking.”

“Damn,” Jim cursed, charging down the hall at a run as soon as the lift doors opened. “That doesn't mean anything,” he called over his shoulder. “He managed to keep talking last time too.”

Bones pounded down the hall on Jim's heels and they stopped together in front of Spock's quarters.

“I'm not going to lose him, Bones,” Jim said firmly. He couldn't. Down to the wire he acknowledged it just wasn't an option. He'd never even dreamed of sharing a bond like this with anyone, let alone Spock, but he definitely couldn't imagine his life without his friend. He just had to convince Spock it was worth it.

“We're still eleven hours from Shi'masu,” Bones pointed out. “What other option do we have if he's in plak tow?”

“You said it the other day,” Jim said as Bones punched in the medical override of the door. “I'm not going to lose him if I have to sleep with him myself.”

Bones turned with a shocked expression, but Jim didn't stop to consider it, stepping quickly within. The room was burning hot at well above Vulcan temperatures but the man sitting in the middle of the room looked cool as a cucumber. Then again, Vulcans didn't sweat. It was a water conservation thing from evolving on a desert world.

“Spock?” Jim called, kneeling before his friend, watching the slack features and fluttering eyes that indicated that if Spock wasn't in plak tow, then he was damned close.

~o0o~

Spock had heard the doors open, as he had when the doctor came before, but he did not move. Not until he heard Captain Kirk's voice call him. It was so hard to focus, so hard to think. He felt, he needed, he _burned_.

“Captain,” Spock said, his voice oddly gravelly even to his own ears.

“Damn it, Spock,” Captain Kirk snapped, his face within such easy reach. Spock wanted ... he wanted ...

What he wanted was not to be. When he realized his hand had crept up towards his captain's face, he caught it by the wrist with his other hand and pulled both into his lap. They shook. He shook, from fingertips to wingtips. He needed ... but all he would have now was death.

“Go,” he growled. “It is ... too late ... I am ... a ... danger ...”

~o0o~

Jim couldn't listen to that halting, pained voice any longer. It hurt to see Spock like this, so far gone. He had seen it once before, right before Spock had tried to kill him. No, not him, his other self, the alternate self. He had to keep that distinction clear in his mind.

“Bullshit,” Jim snapped. “You're not a danger to the crew, now or any other time.” He felt Bones standing behind him, but ignored the doctor for now.

“Soon ... Go. Either I will endure ... to Shi'masu ... or ...”

Spock was cut off by the beep of the comm.

“Engineering to Captain Kirk.”

Bones slapped the comm panel so Jim didn't have to move. “Kirk here.”

“We've stopped. One of the plasma conduits almost blew. We caught it just in time. But we need two hours to repair the conduit, and we daren't go faster than warp seven after the repairs. Too many of the other conduits are showing signs of damage.”

Jim cursed under his breath. “Do what you can, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, Captain. Sorry, Captain.”

Jim gestured to Bones to cut the comm before Scotty could babble any further.

“You hear that, Spock?” Jim asked, turning his full attention back to his friend. “You have no option now. You must take a mate from the crew.”

“And who ... would ... you sacrifice ... to ... me?” Spock gasped, his eyes all but rolled back in his head.

“Nyota has begged for the chance,” Jim suggested one last time.

“No!” Spock protested, his vehement refusal the most emotional thing Jim had ever seen from him since the day Vulcan was destroyed.

“You told me you would only accept a mate who was understanding and prepared. You told Bones you would feared traumatizing someone inexperienced with mental communication.” Jim knew what he wanted, he just didn't know how to talk Spock into it. He didn't want Spock to hate him once pon farr was done, but he was willing to risk it at this point. It hurt to see Spock like this.

“Correct,” Spock replied roughly.

“And you won't accept Nyota, who you have shared mental contact with.”

“Her ... reasons ... for refusal ... are ... logical,” Spock gasped.

“Damn it, Spock, then who will you accept?” Bones snapped from just inside the doorway.

“A ... Vulcan ... will ...”

“You won't last the day it'll take to get to Shi'masu,” Jim snapped. “You wouldn't be this coherent if it weren't for your human blood.”

“Then ... I will ... die,” Spock said with a hint of resignation.

“No!” Jim shouted. “There are two other people on this ship who know about pon farr, know more than Nyota.”

Spock's brow furrowed, but he did not speak.

“Jim's right,” Bones said, stepping forward to kneel at Jim's side. “Neither of us is unprepared nor lacking in understanding.”

Spock's eyes danced between them, his expression hinting at eagerness but also wary. “The risk ...”

“Damn it, man, do you want to die?” Bones snapped.

“You fear doing damage with your emotions so uncontrolled,” Jim said, and Spock nodded haltingly. “I mind melded with Ambassador Spock when he'd just lost his entire planet ... the grief ... do you really think you can do worse?”

~o0o~

Spock could barely focus on Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy's words, though he knew they were important. The burning subsumed all, but he had heard Mr. Scott. There were only two options, take a mate or die. But why were these two offering themselves to him, risking so much?

And yet … and yet. Two years of friendship, to a human, counted for something. Yet Nyota had said no … There was a faint flicker of hope within Spock, but logic still protested. “Why?” It was illogical to take such a risk. Why these two?

“Because I care,” Jim insisted. “Because I won't lose you to this. If you want after, we'll go through with rel-san-vek when we get to Shi'masu, fine, but don't make me watch you die.”

That was an emotional argument, the same reason he had refused Nyota's change of heart. And yet … and yet he found he wanted to accept.

Logic struggled to the fore and Spock tried to remember his arguments from the last two days. He knew reading about pon farr was not the same as knowing as one raised with it, but it was better than nothing. He feared doing injury, but his alternate self had gone so far as to leave bits of himself behind and yet Captain Kirk still stood strong. There was logic in that choice, more logic behind the emotion than there was with Nyota. There were still other concerns, but …

“Jim,” Spock said, his hand rising again towards his captain's face, his friend's face. He burned … he needed … he wanted … “Jim ...”

“I fit all of your criteria. I'm the logical choice,” Jim insisted. “Please.” He caught Spock's hand, and the half-Vulcan was shocked as he lined their hands up with the first two fingers raised and the second two curled under. “Please.”

Logic, need, and emotion surged together towards a common goal as his fingers moved.

~o0o~

Jim knew he'd won the argument when Spock's fingers slid down the back of his hand, around his wrist, and up the front. Jim echoed the action, feeling an unusual thrill of excitement and desire that he was almost certain wasn't his own.

“I'll take that as acceptance,” Jim faintly heard Bones say. “I'll monitor from a distance, if that's all right with you two.” The sensation of his friend moving away was noticed only peripherally as his attention was drawn more and more into Spock.

“Jim,” Spock croaked harshly. “Parted from me … and never parted ... never and … always touching ... and touched.”

Jim could feel more and more strongly the burning in Spock's blood as their hands gently wound around each other, each word seeming to heighten the intensity. Part of him wondered how Spock could stand it, knowing he was getting only the smallest echo of how the half-Vulcan felt though their touching skin. And the feeling got stronger not just because the contact did but also because the feeling got stronger in Spock. His blood burned, his body ached, and the only part of him not shaking was the hand touching Jim.

“Spock,” Jim whispered. “Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched,” he echoed. It felt as though some deep part of himself was being drawn out with each word, but not drawn away. It was met by something else, by Spock, seeking, calling out for companionship.

Jim welcomed that seeking touch, but it wasn't enough. Slowly, Spock's free hand crept up, inch by shaky inch, to touch Jim's face, fingers pressing against psi points until Jim could feel Spock's mind pressing against his own. There was no doubt in his mind as he dropped his rudimentary shields and welcomed his friend with open arms, drawing him in as far as he could with an untrained mind. He used every scrap of understanding he'd scraped from his alternate self's memories the night before to project acceptance and welcome.

The sensation of gentle pressure lasted only a moment before it became instead an overwhelming flood. Jim was sucked under the wave of _need, desire, burning, craving_ that was Spock's mind. But rather than fight and kick, Jim welcomed the surge and released himself to become part of it. Spock's need became their need. Every touch fanned the flames that threatened to consume them.

They welcomed it.

Their two bodies moved closer, craving further sensation. Impeding clothing was torn away to facilitate as much skin to skin contact as possible. Pants must have been removed at some point because the desire for skin to skin contact was replaced with the desire for cock to cock contact, the sensation being that much more intense, that much more desired.

_Please!_

The plea echoed through their mind as the burning grew. Their lips locked and a thread of memory led one of their hands down to wrap around both of their cocks. Moans echoed in their mind and in their ears as shifting brought friction and friction brought pleasure. Simple experimentation with one small, clear corner of their mind found the perfect angle, the perfect speed, until completion. Pleasure exploded though them, one mind soaring on the sensation of two bodies, two bodies echoing off each other through one mind to double, triple, quadruple sensation beyond any level their mind had known before.

Collapsing against each other, they panted for a time, bodies demanding air as their mind surfed the white wave of pleasure. But too soon the wave collapsed and the need built again. The burning was not yet quenched and everywhere their bodies touched was like a brand of fire within.

_We could try this,_ their mind suggested to itself, drawing up memories of past encounters. They were fond memories, memories that heightened the burning with recollected pleasure.

_We need supplies,_ a vestige of logic in their mind reminded them. But that reminded them they were prepared, and one hand was sent out to recover supplies tucked into the pocket of pants too recently shredded in the name of further contact.

Bodies were positioned, supplies were used, and joining began. They discovered the wonder of a tight body wrapped around them, the pleasure to be found when the right spot within was hit, and the joy of bodies pressed tight together, moving in harmony.

Pleasure echoed and redoubled through completion until both bodies supported each other in collapse.

_Rest,_ the mind suggested to itself. Fingers loosened their grip and began to slide down Jim's face.

_Don't go,_ he felt himself cry, fearing the echoing loneliness of a mind alone after such union.

But he did not have time to be alone. _I am here,_ he felt Spock reply though the skin contact they still shared. He felt Spock's mind still twined around his own even if they weren't still merged as deeply as they had been before.

“We must rest,” Spock whispered, his voice still harshly horse.

“Stay close?” Jim pleaded, embarrassed at how needy he sounded even as he yawned widely.

“I would have it no other way,” Spock assured him with voice, body, and mind.

Together they carefully rose and walked to the bathroom. Always touching, even if only a clasp of hands, the rinsed off the worst of their recent activities. Jim paused to scoop several handfuls of water to counteract the extreme heat before stumbling into the bedroom. Spock lay down, carefully leaving room for his wings on the bed.

“Should have ordered a bigger bed when you got those,” Jim muttered as he crawled onto the bed to lie next to Spock.

“It serves,” Spock insisted, drawing Jim tight against his body so that they touched from shoulders to heels. “Sleep,” he ordered, “so that I may begin again.”

Jim felt a stirring of lust that was wholly his beyond the background hum of the burning in Spock's blood that they both felt. He quashed it as best he could, savoring the hot body pressed to his back and the faint thrumming of blood through Spock's skin.  


[Chapter 9](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79796.html)


	9. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 9

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 8](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79510.html)

Captain Kirk – _Jim_ – fell asleep immediately, but Spock found he could not find rest so easily. He knew he needed every moment. All too soon the burning would drive them both to action again, and it had been many days since he rested well.

For the moment his mind was clearing, just a little, from the haze of the plak tow, and he felt the need to consider his situation.

It was too late to stop, he knew that. The bond between himself and his captain pulsed strong and bright within his mind and the worst of the plak tow was fading, temporarily, only because he was sexually exhausted and still in contact with his bondmate. Yet he still felt the need to reconsider. How illogical.

Entering into a relationship with his captain was highly illogical, and at odds with any number of Starfleet regulations. But was it any worse than those same conflicts that existed when he was in a relationship with Nyota?

Ah, Nyota. That was a matter that still hurt. In the depths of k'oh-nar, the emotional vulnerability that came with pon farr, it was possible to acknowledge how much he had hoped Nyota would accept his proposal. They had been lovers for three years, friends for four. She was an intelligent, logical woman who would have been a fine addition to his family.

But she had said no.

And Kirk had not.

_Jim._

No, he had researched the situation, analyzed carefully, considered Spock's arguments, and countered every one. Nyota had simply said no, knowing nothing and asking few questions. She'd never even seemed to stop and consider the matter carefully. It was a contrast he'd never expected given what knew of his crewmates.

He reminded himself that Nyota had stepped forward once she learned how desperate the situation was, had tried to earn another chance to say yes. But Spock had refused. Yes, he had thought it a logical choice at the time, but now he wondered. He had been hurt by her refusal. Had he refused her in turn seeking some form of revenge?

That thought worried him, scared him. He might still have had that bond with Nyota except for his decision. And yet ... on analysis, he did not feel regret. He had wanted Nyota, but how much of that want had been driven by the rising fires of pon farr? He had not considered bonding with her before then.

He had never considered bonding with his captain either, yet even before he heard the captain's –  
 _Jim's_ – arguments, he had wanted to accept. He wondered at that, but turning the memories over in his mind found the analysis sound. He had wanted his captain, craved the touch of his mind and the feel of his skin. Even when he was alone, it had been Kirk he thought of, not Nyota. Fascinating. This would require further analysis.

Spock's introspection was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening in the other room. He sat up and caught sight of Dr. McCoy – _Bones_ – walking in with a tray. He could not fight the growl that began in his throat at the invasion, but he did feel resistance against attacking.

“Computer, set environmentals to Vulcan standard.” The air instantly felt cooler, but for once it was a pleasant change.

The doctor spotted Spock and Kirk on the bed and walked to the doorway. When Spock's growl got louder, the doctor set the tray down and stepped back.

“Water, food, and lube,” McCoy said. “Don't let him get dehydrated in this heat.”

Spock glared, his eyes fixed in the intruder, but nodded.

“And both of you should eat,” McCoy added sharply. “I picked stuff the Vulcan healers recommended.”

With that last direction, McCoy left, backing to the door rather than showing his back to the defensive Vulcan. Wise.

Spock did not relax until the doors closed again. He was tempted to rise and add a personal lock, but he did not wish to leave Kirk alone and the CMO would be able to override anything in pursuit of his duty. Trying to lock McCoy out was illogical.

The doctor's intrusion had disrupted his thoughts, drawn Spock back into the burn of plak tow. For now, his mind was clear enough for him to simply lay back down and pull Kirk tight against him again, but this time having his arm around his mate did not feel like enough of a claim. He twisted and folded a wing so that it draped over both of them.

Claim staked, he slept.

~o0o~

Jim woke slowly to a sense of stifling heat, burning lust, and thirst. Opening his eyes, he spotted a pitcher of water in the doorway, but he found himself doubly trapped in place. Spock had one arm firmly wrapped around his waist, quite possibly leaving bruised on his hip where fingers gripped, and a wing draped over them both.

It was the wing that really caught his sleepy attention. He hadn't been so close to those feathered appendages before – while coherent, anyway, since the time in the meld didn't quite count. Otherwise, they had previously been at arm's length, and only once had he dared to touch.

He wanted to touch. Without volition, his hand crept up to trace the top edge of the wing. He felt the delicate bone under the skin, the soft layers of feathers on the surface. He'd never before realized that the greenish tint came from the feather shafts, the barbs themselves being pure white.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, fingers stroking along feathers.

He knew the exact moment Spock woke. A shudder ran through the body behind him, rocking both of them, and a surge of lust rang out from Spock's mind to his own. As Spock pressed his lips to Jim's neck, he felt their bond surge and deepen until he could feel the pressure of those lips from both sides. So he stroked the wing again and felt both the soft feathers under his hand and the surge of sensation from a limb he didn't have.

“Wait,” Spock whispered harshly, pulling back slightly both physically and mentally.

“Why?” Jim protested, pressing his lips to the feathered limb still in reach.

_Water,_ Spock projected as he gasped. “And what I wish to do to your body will require the lube the doctor left,” he struggled to add when Jim did not immediately desist.

Jim had to concede to the logic of the latter statement at least and released his hold, for now.

Spock slid down Jim's body, hands trailing down his side as the half-Vulcan moved towards the foot of the bed to slip off. He refused to let go completely, finally grasping Jim's hand and pulling him along towards the door. Not wanting to lose that contact, Jim followed willingly.

With only one hand available to each of them, they worked together to pour the water. Spock made sure Jim drank two glasses of water before grabbing the lube and nudging him back towards the bed.

Spock tossed Jim back onto the bed, trailing his hands back up Jim's sides as he settled back in the position they'd been in when they woke up.

“Where were we?” Jim asked teasingly as he began his explorations of Spock's wing again, savoring every shudder and throb they shared.

“Careful,” Spock warned as he opened the lube container. “I do not wish to hurt you, but ...”

“Fear you'll lose you're famed Vulcan control?” Jim asked lightly, wiggling against the hard cock he could feel pressed against his ass.

Spock growled, pushing Jim onto his stomach and plunging his fingers, well lubed, into Jim's ass. Jim gasped. The loss of some skin contact weakened the link between them, but it was not lost. He could feel Spock's hot fingers plunging within him, and the feel of his cool muscles around them. He felt the soft brush of feathers against his back, and the surge of arousal that came with each brush. It was incredible, intoxicating.

With his arms trapped under him, Jim spread his legs until one touched Spock. The contact earned him a good gasp, but it wasn't enough. He clenched his muscles around the fingers within him, and that earned him a moan. It was almost enough. But the final trigger wasn't his action, but Spock's. Those hot fingers brushed against his prostate, shooting sparks of white light behind his eyes. Enough of the sensation must have transferred over because Spock didn't bother making a noise as he pulled Jim flush against him and plunged inside.

Moaning in pleasure, Jim traced his fingers over the hand holding his hips still, savoring the backlash of pleasure though the bond that had strengthened with the increased skin contact. But it wasn't enough, for either of them. Spock brought his free hand up to Jim's face, pressing hot fingertips against psi points until the link between their minds swelled and flared until there was only one mind, their mind.

After that there was only heat and pleasure, joining and completion.

~o0o~

When Spock woke,truly woke, with a clear mind and his logic falling back into place, he didn't know how long it had been since Jim Kirk had come to him with demands of emotion and logic. He didn't know how long he had been lost in the haze of lust and emotion. Faint memories of drinking, eating, and sleeping interspersed stronger memories of passionate sex. With time and meditation it might be possible to order and clarify the memories, but there was no time now. With pon farr finally satisfied it was time to identify the condition of the Enterprise and return to duty.

At the same time, he had no real desire to move. The cooler body of his captain was pressed against his chest, legs entangled, and Spock's left wing was the only thing covering their bare bodies. There was a feeling of comfort and peace in the contact that Spock didn't think he'd felt since his planet had been destroyed, his mother killed. For once, it felt like the churning anger and grief that had lived in the back of his mind for so long had finally settled.

Unfortunately, he did not have a chance to savor the changes. His comm rang, the beep echoing through the room for the first time in many days. Spock considered the best way to untangle himself from Jim to answer it, but had barely begun the process when the captain rolled free, somehow landing on his feet when he fell off the bed, and walked to the comm.

“Kirk here,” Jim snapped into the mic. His voice was strong and authoritative, but Spock could tell, perhaps through the bond that still resonated between them, that Jim was barely awake and working on a form of autopilot.

“My readouts indicate Spock's awake and back to normal,” Bones' voice replied. “Can you confirm?”

Jim blinked sharply several times as his brain finally slipped into conscious brainwaves. Spock sensed a burst of anger, but before he could identify the cause it was suppressed. Instead, Jim looked a Spock with a quizzical glance, to which Spock replied with a nod as he rearranged his wings to allow him to sit up.

“He thinks so, anyway,” Jim said, smiling in a manner that seemed to invite Spock to join in the joke.

“I'll be there in five with food and a fresh uniform for you, Jim. Once you've eaten, I want a full physical from both of you to make sure this madness didn't do any damage. Then you can go catch up on the last few days.”

Spock recognized the order in the doctor's tone, but it seemed Jim could not resist challenging. “Bones,” he protested.

“Not this time, Jim,” Bones snapped back. “Doctor's orders.” The doctor ended the call then, cutting off any further chance for protest.

Jim turned again to look at Spock, uncertainty radiating from his expression and posture now that there were no further distractions. Spock was uncertain how to interpret the feelings radiating down the bond now. The human mind was a confusing muddle compared to the logical organization of a Vulcan. Most likely, he was picking up regret for the situation and uncertainty how to ask for a dissolution of the bond.

Part of him protested that interpretation, but he had no logical explanation for it and so ignored that part of himself. All the same, he found he was not eager to pursue the dissolution of the bond. He would have to meditate on this, and eventually discuss the matter with Jim, if there were enough time.

However, now was not the best time for that conversation. They were both recovering from the rigors of pon farr and the doctor was due any minute. Instead, he suggested, “You should take the shower first.”

“Why?” Jim asked.

“I require longer to cleanse the additional surface area of my wings,” Spock replied, taking comfort in the haven of logic.

“Right,” Jim said distractedly, still uncertain about something. But he strode quickly to the restroom, calling, “Be right out,” over his shoulder.

~o0o~

Jim had been looking forward to waking up in Spock's arms, more so than he wanted to admit. The last few days had been incredible, more than he'd dreamed possible. And not just because of the sex, which had been indescribably mind blowing in every sense of the word. But beyond the sex, in moments of coherency, he'd felt at peace, welcomed, comforted. It held the potential for everything he'd felt from the alternate Spock, hidden under the grief and horror, in the mind meld on Delta Vega. That one moment of knowing he was loved, accepted, perfect, had been enough to carry him through the last two years. It had soothed wounds from his mother's years of neglect that he'd never admitted to having. Given the chance to wake up in Spock's arms, to quietly discuss their plans, to find out if Spock wanted to continue this felt like it might just heal those wounds all the way.

And thanks to Bones he'd never had the chance. Might never have the chance again.

Jim had gotten up on instinct only, but it had taken everything to stuff down his anger at his friend when he woke up enough to realize what was happening. Instead, he'd smiled at Spock, made a joke, and hoped it would be an opening. But it seemed he'd gotten it all wrong. Spock had been stone faced, wound up tight within himself until Jim could barely feel the echo of that logical mind touching his own.

It had hit Jim then that he'd forced this on Spock, no matter what logic he'd tried to use. In the end, Spock had little choice in the matter. So Jim pulled back, shored up his shields. He'd let his first officer make the decisions this time, keep his mouth shut for once.

It only took a minute for the sonic shower to knock the sweat and other fluids of the last few days from Jim's skin. It was only when he stepped outside of the shower compartment that he realized what a difference it made in his skin color and smell. Suddenly, he regretted the shower. He didn't exactly have a lot of reminders of the last few days. There were a few bruises, which Bones would probably clear up as soon as he got to Sickbay, and the link, which Spock would probably have severed by the end of the day, which meant a souvenir of the last few days was going to be completely transient. Well, he had his memories, but life had taught him those could weaken and fade.

He allowed himself a moment to mourn the end of his time with Spock, the loss of those reminders, and then stuffed it all in the depths of his mind. Wrapping a towel around his waist, it covered the bruises on his hips at least, he went out into the main room just in time to greet Bones as he arrived, carefully not looking at Spock as they passed.

“Thanks for everything the last few days, Bones,” Jim said, snagging the uniform his friend had brought and quickly pulling it on. Bones snorted at the bare skin, and looked a little upset at the bruises, but Jim ignored him.

“You're lucky you're still in one piece,” Bones snapped grumpily, throwing his captain an apple from the tray as soon as it wouldn't get dropped. “Between Starfleet's cranky messages, Vulcan's concerns, and whatever the hell you two have been up to in here ...”

“Lay off,” Jim grumbled. “He's alive, I'm alive. What the hell else matters?” He might have said more, but he shut himself up with a big bite of apple.

“I can already tell you've sweated off at least three pounds,” the doctor grumbled. “Who knows what other effects the last few days. I've been reading warnings about possible changes to your brain chemistry ...”

“And you'll poke and prod and prove there's nothing more wrong with me than there ever was,” Jim countered. “Now excuse me, I have a ship to run.” He tried to walk out, but Bones got in the way.

“Eat, Sickbay, then you can work,” Bones insisted.

Jim grabbed the plate on the tray he knew was for him. It was the one with meat. “I'll just eat on the way to Sickbay, shall I? Get this over with.”

Bones held him there for another few seconds, but when Jim stuffed the first piece of toast in his mouth, the doctor finally stepped aside.

~o0o~

Jim was already gone when Spock emerged from the shower chamber. He had overheard hints of an altercation between the doctor and the captain but had been unable to identify exact words due to the interference of the sonic cleansing system.

“Scotty thinks he has a way to fix you,” Bones said as soon as Spock stepped into his quarters' main room. “I want a full check up before I let you go through it. We can at least make sure your mind is clear before letting you scramble your molecules in that infernal transporter.”

“What did he identify as the problem?” Spock asked, even as flickers of memory provided an answer. He would have to meditate for some time to properly organize Jim's memories within his own mind.

“An adhesive property of the DNA found on Sardinia III. He understands better, so let Scotty explain it when you see him.” Bones pointed at the tray he'd brought, one side empty and the other full of items tempting to the Vulcan palate. “Now will you be reasonable and eat before you go to Sickbay, or are you going to be as stubborn as Jim?”

“I will remain here,” Spock replied. In fact, if the doctor would go away, Spock would appreciate a few minutes alone to think before he had to face the rest of the crew or undergo a potentially hazardous procedure.

Spock watched Bones leave with a minimum of goodbyes and struggled to repress the urge to let out a sigh of relief. He failed.

Looking at the tray, he found the food both appealing and unappealing. There was nothing distasteful about it, Spock simply was not interested in eating. His mind was so full of conflicting thoughts that food was the last of his concerns.

What was he to do about the captain, about the bond they now shared? Should he request rel-san-vek from the elders? Jim had suggested it was an option during his argument.

An option. He had specifically said “if you want.” If Spock wanted … Did he want rel-san-vek?

He had hoped to bond to Lieutenant Uhura, Nyota, the woman he had shared a relationship with the last three years. She shared his logical mindset and many of his interests. And yet, before he entered pon farr he had not seriously considered bonding with her. He had not considered bonding with anyone. T'Pring's death had actually brought a sense of relief, a feeling of freedom, as he had never expected to enter pon farr. He should have discussed the matter with his alternate self before making assumptions with insufficient data.

However, once his assumption was proved wrong, Nyota would have been a logical choice. She was not Vulcan, but for a human she was of a type to be welcomed by his father's people. And a quarter Vulcan child was better than no children.

Yes, as a woman she could bear children. In contrast, if he remained bonded to Jim there would be no children. While there were systems in place for males to chose a host female to carry a child, who would raise such a child? And where? A starship was no place for offspring.

Yet, now that pon farr was past, there was a sense of relief that it was not Nyota who he awoke with. He was not yet certain of the source of such emotions, but he was illogically pleased to find himself bonded to Jim. Perhaps it was something he had seen in the other man's mind, something he recognized unconsciously but had not yet brought to his conscious mind.

Unfortunately, this all considered the situation without taking into account Starfleet regulations. While occasional exceptions were accepted, regulations specified that relations between crew members of differing levels in the same chain of command was not permitted, leading to immediate transfer of one or both crew members. Spock did not wish to leave the Enterprise and could not see Jim doing so either. In fact, just thinking about it, Spock could feel his bond to Jim protest the very idea.

Therefore, the only option was to undergo rel-san-vek and attempt to convince Starfleet that the incident would not affect their working relationship as captain and first officer.

Except, even as he saw the logic in that decision, he found something within him protesting. Things would change. He had seen a side of his captain he never expected to see. While it would take much meditation to sort through everything he had seen within Jim's mind, he had seen it and what he had seen would influence their interactions even if the bond between them were severed. Jim would likely be affected similarly, though as he did not partake of meditation the memories might surface randomly, as the memories left by Spock's alternate self had been doing.

Perhaps Spock could help Jim to organize his mind more effectively and thereby minimize the disruption.

Spock caught himself on that thought and pushed it aside. Logically, if he broke the bond between them, it would be illogical to initiate another mind meld. It would in fact be dangerous and have a high probability of re-initiating the bond. Their minds had proven highly compatible.

There was no simple solution, but the logical answer seemed to be rel-san-vek, if only he could convince his emotions. He did not wish to separate from Jim Kirk. It must be remnants of k'oh-nar that weakened his ability to control his emotions. Perhaps it would be best to meditate before going to Sickbay, to regain his equilibrium.

Before he could move, the chime on his door indicated someone wished entrance. “Come,” he called firmly, triggering the door release and standing to greet his guest. However, he did not expect to see his alternate self standing in the hall and all attempts to control his reaction failed.

“I apologize for intruding on you at this time, but I thought you might appreciate an understanding ear,” the ambassador offered as the door shut behind him. “But please, do not let me interrupt your meal.”

“I was planning to begin a meditation cycle,” Spock admitted, feeling oddly exposed. It was a common feeling when facing his alternate self, as though his mental shields were stripped away and his mind lay bare for examination at any distance. He was in part surprised that he had not noticed the ambassador's presence on the ship previously. Though they met very rarely, Spock had come to recognize the feeling that came with their near presence to each other.

“That might be of assistance,” the ambassador agreed, even as he sat across the table from Spock. “But speaking might be of more help. You may not yet have all the facts.”

Spock stuffed down a burst of frustration and anger. “And you think you have the answers?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

“No,” the ambassador replied blandly. “But I do have an alternate perspective, as well as insight into all involved.”

“Did you share such a bond with your Jim Kirk?” Spock asked before he could convince himself to refrain. It was not something he had considered before, but now, in the light of recent events, his alternate self's advice on Earth took on a new possible meaning.

“No,” the ambassador repeated, this time sounding sad. “We shared a close bond for many years. He was my t'hy'la in all ways but that. We allowed duty and regulations to keep us from taking that last step. Perhaps if he had not died just before retirement ...”

“I should not have asked,” Spock said, wincing internally.

“If anyone has the right to know, would it not be you who are myself?” the ambassador replied calmly, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“We are similar, genetically the same, but our experiences differ enough to make us different people,” Spock pointed out. He was trying to convince himself of the depth of those differences, to convince himself that he would not share the deep regret in his alternate self's eyes if he went through with rel-san-vek.

The ambassador seemed to read the thought from Spock's mind despite the space between them. “True in many things,” he said. “But I have found that some things are constant despite what the Narada has wrought. No matter his upbringing, Jim Kirk will always be a fine captain ...”

“If more prone to illogical behavior,” Spock cut in.

“He has always been like that,” the ambassador countered, his lip twitching again. “No matter what the universe, Jim will always be insufferably illogical. And it will always be impossibly intriguing to us. Nothing ever captured my curiosity as strongly as Jim Kirk's illogic. Can you truly say you are not the same?”

Spock opened his mouth to speak, but found the words caught in his throat. He could not lie, and he could not deny that the captain intrigued him with every irrational act. Silent, he shook his head.

“I envy you this opportunity,” the ambassador said wistfully.

“We are the same in this, but how can we be sure he is?” Spock insisted. “He did not seem ...” He closed his mouth, unable to find the words he needed.

“How can you know if you do not ask him?” the ambassador suggested.

“There is little time,” Spock said uncertainly. “The Enterprise must travel to the Delgasian system shortly. I am not certain there is even time to speak with the Council.”

“There is time,” the ambassador insisted. “If you survive Mr. Scott's procedure, which I am confident you will, then come to Shi'masu. Mr. Scott assures me the repairs to the engines will take another twelve hours. Therefore, you have time to listen to the message our father sent you, speak with Jim, and then meet with the Council. They have opened a slot for you at sunset, in eight point six hours.”

“It sounds as though you have put a great deal of thought into this,” Spock said stiffly.

“Perhaps,” the ambassador said offhandedly. “I find I have a vested interest in how your life develops. On another note, the Council will request that you leave a genetic sample before you leave.”

Spock froze, trying to process the change in topic, his mind working more slowly than he wanted to admit. “I do not see why my genetics would be desired. I am not fully Vulcan, nor has it been confirmed whether my hybrid genetics are fertile.”

“You are,” the ambassador said confidently. “While I never chose to have children, I have long known it was possible. Under the circumstances, every variation of Vulcan genetics remaining must be preserved. The Council has finally agreed to encourage all females to bear children from more than their mate to provide a wider genetic base. As direct intercourse would be inappropriate given the depth of the Vulcan marriage bond, samples are being collected and stored for artificial insemination.”

“A … logical decision,” Spock admitted. His mind was spinning with the possibilities, possibilities that the ambassador seemed well aware of given the twinkle in his eye. His choice of mate no longer impacted his ability to father children. “I will be sure to provide a sample before the Enterprise departs Shi'masu.”

If only there were such a simple solution to the question of Starfleet regulations.  


[Chapter 10](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79984.html)


	10. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 10

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 9](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79796.html)

“You're an idiot,” Bones informed Jim as he ran a tricorder over his captain. Nurse Chapel had already run a complete scan by the time he arrived, but Bones had just shooed her away and started again.

“You say that a lot,” Jim replied with a sigh. “But you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same.”

Bones glared at him, but in the manner that implied he knew Jim was right and didn't like admitting it.

“See,” Jim crowed quietly. “Spock's alive. I'm fine. It all turned out really.”

“You are not fine,” Bones snapped. “You've got bruises on your hips, shoulders, neck, and ribs, bite marks on your neck and shoulders, and then there's the internal abuse ...”

“Love bites,” Jim cut him off, “hickies, and the soreness that comes with good sex. Nothing worse than you've seen on me a hundred times before, and a hell of a lot better than a few others.” And a lot better than he'd expected, really. The reports he'd read talked about the violence of pon farr, but Spock had been considerate and gentle, taking every precaution to ensure there was nothing worse than bruises and soreness. Perhaps it was because it wasn't Spock who'd been gentle. _They_ had been gentle together.

Yeah, and trying to think that way made his eyes cross and his brain feel fuzzy. More had come across in that time than shared sensations and a few current thoughts, but this was not the time to try and make sense of it all. Of that he was certain.

Bones snarled, pulling Jim out of his thoughts. The doctor put back the dermal regenerator, unused, with a vindictive look and grabbing a more powerful tricorder and scanning Jim's head.

“You know, if you're going to insist on redoing everything twice, you could at least pass the time by telling me what happened the last two days,” Jim growled after Bones gripped his chin to hold his head in place for the scan. He couldn't help that the stupid thing made his brain itch.

He glared, but Bones began talking. “I told Mr. Scott he was in charge as soon as I left you and Spock to your … activities. He accepted that I'd taken you off duty because you were emotionally compromised with worry about Spock. The rest of the crew seemed to accept it after I had to do the same with Uhura two hours later.”

“Good cover,” Jim admitted. “Did you tell Uhura …?”

“Hell no,” Bones snapped edgily. “Someone else can explain things to her. I'm staying out of it.”

“Damn,” Jim muttered. If Uhura hated him before, he was so screwed now. Maybe he could get Spock to explain ...

Bones tapped something into the tricorder as the scan finished but continued speaking with a distracted air. “Scotty got the ship moving again in about two hours, made it to Shi'masu inside of twenty-four. He then came to me, worried about Spock. He didn't think it was wise to transport him until the excess DNA had been removed.”

Jim winced. He hadn't thought about that, but it made sense. If the Sardinia III feathers could make more of an impact on Spock's DNA through repeated transportations, who knew what he'd end up looking like.

“But he was willing to pretend he'd transported you two down for Spock's treatment and not ask what really was going on,” Bones continued. “Ambassador Selek came up so Scotty could get a DNA sample for his transporter model ...”

“Is the ambassador still here?” Jim interrupted.

Bones ignored his friend, pinning Jim's head in place and beginning the scan again. “Scotty's finishing the repairs to the warp engines. Something about upgrading the plasma conduits. A couple of Vulcan engineers are helping. The Council called shortly after I told the healers you and Spock were back to normal and requested the two of you show up at sunset. That's in about eight hours.”

“How many times are you going to repeat that scan?” Jim grumbled as he filed away the information Bones had given him. He'd have to talk to Scotty, but from the sound of things, everything was well under control. Ignoring the cold pit in his stomach at the thought of facing the Vulcan Council and undergoing rel-san-vek, he glared at Bones and his stupid tricorder.

“Until I'm convinced that green blooded hobgoblin didn't completely screw up your brain chemistry,” Bones replied. “The Vulcan healers I spoke with were quite concerned about the risks.”

“Did you ask Ambassador Selek?” Jim asked.

Bones muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” Jim said, a cocky lit to his voice. He had a good feeling.

“He said that nothing could mess up your mind more than it was naturally,” Bones finally said audibly.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Jim asked, “And what does your tricorder say?”

“That your brain chemistry is a disaster,” Bones snapped. “But that's normal based on previous scans. In fact, I think your serotonin levels have evened out a little.”

Jim blinked and furrowed his brow in thought. Brain chemistry was not an area he'd put a lot of research into. “Is that good?”

“Actually, yes,” Bones replied, finally setting the tricorder aside and letting Jim sit up. “Serotonin levels effect appetite, mood, aggression, and sleep. Medications with serotonin have been used to treat psychiatric disorders and sleep disorders for centuries. If this lasts, you might actually become a more well balanced, sane person.”

Jim snorted. “And pigs will fly.”

“After all we've seen, I wouldn't be surprised,” Bones countered teasingly.

“So, you done?” Jim asked, prepared to make a run for the door even if the answer was no.

“Yes,” Bones replied with a sigh. “You're right. The injuries are minor and will heal fine. You're fine, he's probably fine. But be careful, will you? If you stay bonded, I don't know what the side effects will be, but I also don't know what the side effects will be if you break the bond. I know you did what you had to in order to save his life, but ...” His hand gripped Jim's arm tight even as his words trailed off.

Jim could almost hear the words unsaid, and it brought a spot of warmth to his chest. _I don't want to lose my best friend._ “I'm gonna be fine, Bones. Promise.” Jim gripped Bones' arm back, their stance echoing one of those ancient human 'fellow warrior greetings' he'd seen in the movies as a kid.

The moment was broken when Jim, feeling something coming, turned towards the doors. A moment later, the door whooshed open letting Spock into Sickbay. Bones raised an eyebrow at Jim's actions, but quickly centered his glare on the half-Vulcan. Fond as Jim was of Bones, and Spock, he was happy enough duck out of the room while they were both distracted.

He was planning to go to the Bridge to finish getting updated and take command again, but as soon as he hit the hall he spotted Ambassador Selek and his feet froze to the floor. “Ambassador,” he managed to say in a fairly moderated tone. He was amazed to note he could feel Spock behind him in Sickbay, and a faint echo of the same mind in front of him.

“Jim, it is good to see you face to face, old friend,” Ambassador Spock replied.

“And you. Though I could wish it were under other circumstances,” Jim said with a weak smile.

“I must agree,” Spock. “Though one must admit that circumstances have come to a positive end.”

Jim swallowed nervously. “Awkward with a lot of complications would be the description I'd use.”

Spock's lips quirked. “Perhaps. Give things a little time to settle.”

Shifting his weight uneasily, Jim watched Spock in silence for a minute. As far as he could tell, the calmness the Vulcan exuded was truth, not a facade, and for the life of him Jim wasn't sure how that could be. “I suppose you want to do something about those extra memories,” Jim suggested before acknowledging that was almost as awkward a topic of conversation. Especially in the middle of the corridor.

“No,” Spock said gravely. “Under the circumstances that would be best left for a later visit. Your mind has undergone a number of changes in the last two days and it would be best to let matters stabilize before attempting another major change.”

“Ah,” Jim breathed, repressing a sigh of relief. While he didn't think about those memories that often, they were something he tended to savor. While he would never be that James Kirk, it was nice to know that somewhere there was a him who had a father, a loving family, who was calmer and more confident, and yet who was still him. Perhaps he was destined to be captain of the Enterprise, to know Spock and Bones. And, just maybe, even with the differences, he was still destined to be that loved, to have that level of companionship. When he was down he could pull up those memories and remind himself that some of that could still be in his future. He wasn't quite ready to give that up.

“So … um … is there something I can help you with? I don't mean to say hi and run, but I've been out of touch for two days ...” Jim hemmed and hawed uneasily, feeling more like a sheepish schoolboy than a starship captain.

Spock quirked his lips in another hint of a smile, seeming amused at Jim's attitude if the captain was reading him correctly. “The Enterprise will be leaving orbit in thirteen point four hours, after Mr. Scott completes his warp engine repairs. Before then, you and Spock have a very important decision to make, and I thought you might appreciate someone knowledgeable to speak with.”

Jim's mouth opened to reply, but he froze before a single sound left his throat. His lips closed and his brow furrowed as he studied the Vulcan before him. First instinct demanded to tell Spock where to shove it and get on with his duties, except the older man had a point. It would be nice to speak with someone, if only for a moment. “Not here,” he finally said, and turned away. The Ambassador could follow if he really wanted.

When Jim stepped into the nearest open conference room, Spock was right on his heels, as he had been the whole way, as Jim had known he was. It was that latter part that was bugging the captain.

“I know I'm bonded to my Spock, this universe's Spock,” Jim said quickly. “But should I be able to feel you?”

Spock looked surprised, then thoughtful. In silence, he sat down in one of the chairs and studied Jim carefully. “All Vulcans can sense each other through irak-nahan, thought their mental abilities. This is not to say they are in constant communication, just that they know each other's presence, may pick up strong thoughts or emotions if they are present. There is a distance factor involved in this, but also a critical mass factor. I once felt a ship of Vulcans die from half a sector away.”

“So … what you felt when you saw your planet die …?” Jim asked, collapsing into a chair.

“All we survivors felt their deaths.” Spock nodded sadly. “But that was not the point I was endeavoring to present. Family members know each other's minds more intimately than strangers and so can sense more. I myself am more than family to your telsu, your bonded, and so through him you are more sensitive to me. Unless you have been hiding an unusual degree of psychic sensitivity for a human, it is unlikely you will be aware of any Vulcan beyond immediate family.”

“And after rel-san-vek?” Jim asked hesitantly.

“With the bond broken it is unlikely you'd be so aware,” Spock replied. “Is rel-san-vek what you desire?”

Jim studied his hands clasped before him on the table. “It's not my decision,” he said softly.

“Why not?” Spock asked gently.

“I all but forced him into this,” Jim snapped, finally expressing his anger, though most of it was directed at himself. “I waited until the last minute. He was already in plak tow before I even suggested it. I have no right to trap him in a relationship he doesn't want.”

“That is a logical point, but does not touch on one important factor. What do you want?”

“What does that matter?” Jim muttered darkly. He had hoped that speaking about this would help settle him, but right now he just felt more and more wound up and upset.

“It matters a great deal,” Spock disagreed. “The bond you share with Spock carries emotions most strongly. If you feel trapped by it, dislike it, then Spock should know in order to make the logical decision. If you welcome it, desire to retain it, then again, Spock should know. This is not a matter for which there is a simple solution to be found based entirely on logic. Instead, emotion must be considered, and hopes and dreams, for both of you.”

As he considered the Ambassador's words, Jim also watched the older Vulcan. Memories filtered up through his mind of Spock, this Spock rather than his Spock, arguing firmly of the superiority of logic. But at the same time, he remembered Spock reaching out, speaking of the importance of friendship, of emotion. Could those memories of experiences his Spock had not had still be a clue for how to handle this situation?

And how much was this Spock trying to manipulate the situation, and why? There was a decided twinkle in his eyes as he discussed emotions and hopes and dreams.

“What about Starfleet regulations? Or the fact that Spock will probably be required to have a child someday to help the race?” Jim asked, trying not to sound like the whiny child he felt like. Part of him wanted to throw a temper tantrum, to beg and plead that Spock stay with him. But he was an adult now and knew one could not have everything at once.

“Those are also factors that must be considered,” Ambassador Spock agreed. “I have already discussed some of them with Spock, and our father and the Council will discuss others. If it is, as you insist, his decision, then he needs to consider all the variables. However, one of those is what you want.”

“I don't want to give him up,” Jim admitted in a rush of words that was half sob. “I never planned ... never expected ...” He didn't know how to express what he now felt.

Spock's lips quirked and his eyes twinkled, an expression that was for him as broad a smile as Jim ever got. “We never plan these things,” he said lightly. “The tradition of bonding our children at seven ensures that there is someone to turn to when pon farr comes, but sometimes prevents them from finding a truly fulfilling bond. When that is found, should we turn away just because it comes from an unexpected source?”

Jim found himself reaching a hand across the table, almost touching before common sense and his xenocultural classes stopped him. “Were _you_ expecting this?”

Shaking his head, Spock said, “No. I had hoped to see you find a close bond with my younger self, a friendship to last a lifetime, perhaps even achieve t'hy'la as I once did. A full marriage bond is something I never experienced, and never dreamed you might.”

Jim almost asked if the failure came from lack of interest on one of their parts, but he could feel that wasn't it. There were a lot of concerns facing them now, regulations and the like. For the, slightly, more rule following Jim Kirk those might have been insurmountable obstacles. Had he not cornered Spock when he did, Jim knew those obstacles would have been a logical impediment even now.

But what was done was done, and they could only go forward from here. “I should talk to Spock, before we see the Council,” Jim said, almost feeling as confident in the decision as he sounded.

“A wise decision, old friend.”

~o0o~

When Spock stepped into Sickbay and saw Jim still there he was surprised, and perhaps a touch worried. However, it was comforting to see how quickly the captain left as soon as Bones' attention was diverted to Spock.

There was no need to speak while the medical tests were performed. It was the same series of comprehensive tests that the doctor had been performing twice a day for the first four days after the transporter accident. It had been five point eight days since they had performed this dance, but the rhythm was easy to remember. Spock knew how to position himself for each test, and for how long. Bones knew Spock would be where he was needed and how far to step between tests to avoid the expansive wingspan at Spock's back. That part had taken two days to get correct, but fortunately Spock had not been as sensitive to each touch at that time.

Only once Bones picked up another tricorder after what Spock knew was the last medical test did the commander speak up. “Are the test results not adequate?”

Bones grunted and put the tricorder back down. “No, completely adequate,” he replied in what Jim had once identified as a tone the doctor used when mocking Spock's word choices. “Everything's closer to your normal baseline than it was after the accident, not that your baseline makes any sense relative to a normal human, or Vulcan.”

Spock ignored the deprecations about his biology, they being old and well worn complaints from the doctor. “And the captain?” he asked instead of his usual counter arguments. He struggled to repress his eagerness to know the answer.

“Just fine.”

“Fine is a variable term to describe anyone's condition. I would appreciate a more accurate descriptor,” Spock chided. He had to hide a pang deep in his heart at the similarity to the argument he'd had with his mother so many times. Interacting with his human crew mates often reminded him of his mother and the many human foibles she had tried to explain to him when he was a child.

“He's been well used,” Bones said, “but the bruises and bites will fade. And his brain chemistry has actually leveled out. So he's fine.”

Releasing a soft breath of relief, Spock said, “Under those conditions, I have three requests for you”

Bones raised an eyebrow in an inquisitive look. “Do tell.”

“Facing the imminent removal of my wings, I find I desire to retain several feathers. Would you do the removal?”

“A rather emotional request,” Bone said dryly.

“I am still suffering from k'oh-nar and find myself suffering from sentimentality most strongly,” Spock admitted. He had come to terms with his continuing emotional state, but it was unpleasant to admit to it before others. The doctor was the kind of man to make him suffer for admitting to such a failing for years to come.

Bones looked tempted to tease, his eyes alight with excitement, but he refrained. “How many feathers do you want to keep?” he asked simply.

“Ten would be sufficient.”

“This may not be a pleasant process,” Bones warned.

“I have considered that likelihood, and I find I still desire the feathers.”

“As long as it doesn't trigger another pon farr,” Bones muttered as he stepped behind Spock to begin the procedure.

The doctor was correct. It was not a pleasant experience. Sharp jolts of pleasure mixed with pain ran through Spock as each feather was removed. After the tenth such occurrence, Bones stepped back around the biobed and handed Spock ten large primaries.

“And second?” Bones asked.

“I require a witness for the changes to my last will and testament,” Spock replied, proffering the PADD he had brought along with the updates he had made earlier after his alternate self left his quarters.

Bones shot him a concerned look as he accepted the PADD.

“It is only appropriate to correct for the change in my circumstances over the last few days in the face of the risk I take with Mr. Scott's attempt to correct for the DNA modifications from Sardinia III,” Spock pointed out.

That explanation did nothing to settle the doctor's expression, and it became even more and more expressive as he read through the contents of the PADD. Finally, he asked, “Does Jim know about this?”

“I did not have a chance to discuss it with him,” Spock admitted. “However, he is my married partner under Vulcan law, so it is appropriate.”

Bones' jaw flapped silently for a fifty-six point three seconds before firmly closing with a click of teeth. Refraining from further comment, the doctor signed as witness and handed the PADD back to Spock. “I hope that's not used today,” he commented sharply, expressing what Jim had told Spock was Bones' personal version of concern.

“As do I,” Spock agreed. “However, as there is some risk that it will, my third request is that you be present in the transporter room while I undergo the procedure.”

“If anything goes wrong, there's nothing I'll be able to do for you,” Bones pointed out.

“If the procedure fails, then it is not I who will need your medical expertise,” Spock said, not able to completely hide his concern in the face of such a possibility. “The bond between the captain and myself is new, but it is strong. Loss of one partner in a Vulcan marriage bond has been known to drive the other into such a state of grief that they will themselves into death.”

“What?” Bones exclaimed. His hand reached out and gripped Spock's arm tightly, an action he used most commonly with Jim when the captain was proposing another hare-brained scheme.

“There are techniques to assist the bereaved. Ambassador Selek will also attend. He can form a meld with Jim to keep him from falling too far. However, the more beings assisting, and the closer their bond to the bereaved, the better. You are Jim's friend.”

Still concerned, Bones finally realized his actions and released Spock's arm. “I … right. I'll be there,” he said. “Though I don't know how much help I'll be beyond proffering a hypospray or artificial respiration.”

~o0o~

“So, this is going to work, right?” Jim was leaning over the front of the transporter controls while Scotty reviewed the program he'd input to fix Spock. Jim had asked a few questions to make sure his ship was holding together – just fine – and the engines were being repaired – improved from the sound of it, but he'd sort out the details later – but his main interest was making sure his first officer – and friend, and lover, and husband … not thinking about that right now – was going to be returned to proper health.

“It's never been tried before,” Scotty said with slightly less than his usual arrogant confidence. “And there's nothin' else effected to try it on first. But honestly, Captain, Mr. Spock is all righ' for now, but will he stay tha' way if we dinna fix his DNA?”

Jim sighed and scrubbed one hand over his face. “No,” he admitted. “I'd just rather know we aren't going to kill him while trying to save him.”

“I'm doin' my best, Captain,” Scotty assured him. “I've discussed the program with several Vulcan experts and they're agreein' it's the best option.”

Further discussion was cut off when Spock entered the room, without a shirt. Jim swallowed the urge to let out a wolf whistle when Bones and Ambassador Selek followed Spock in.

“Are you prepared, Mr. Scott?” Spock asked without even looking at Jim.

“Whenever you are, Mr. Spock,” Scotty replied.

Spock strode towards the transporter pad, but Jim stopped him, grasping his hand as he passed. “Spock, are you sure about this?” he asked, kicking himself for sounding like six kinds of idiot as soon as the words passed his lips.

“It must be attempted,” Spock replied blandly.

“We could wait a bit, give Scotty more time to test the algorithm,” Jim suggested. He was ignoring everyone else in the room even though Bones and the other Spock had stepped close.

“Every day we wait means the probable return of pon farr,” Spock pointed out quietly, though Scotty probably heard every word. His fingers tightening against Jim's as he spoke. “Mr. Scott assures me all the preparations that can be made have been. The only remaining step is to test the procedure. In case of failure I have updated my will, and Dr. McCoy and Ambassador Selek have agreed to assist you. I see no logical reason to delay further.”

“No reason?” Jim gasped. He certainly didn't agree on that. There were a lot of reasons, most of them desperately needed to be discussed between himself and Spock. But Spock was Vulcan, or had been raised to be so, so maybe he didn't feel the need to discuss the emotional ramifications of the last few days the way the human Jim did.

“Jim,” Spock said. Jim was startled to hear a note of pleading. Looking into Spock's eyes, Jim saw nervousness, and suddenly realized that the Vulcan had steeled himself to do this, now, and further delay was eroding what precious little control he had regained since the plak tow faded.

“All right,” Jim said. He squeezed Spock's hand tight and did his best to project confidence and love down the fledgling bond between them. Then he let go, and stepped back until his spine bumped against the transporter console. He ignored the way Ambassador Selek's arm brushed against his and Bones set a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Spock stood frozen for a moment, and Jim felt all his emotions reflected back to a degree he'd never expected. Then, without a word, Spock stepped forward onto the transporter pad and nodded to Scotty.

Scotty glanced at Jim for approval, which Jim gave, reluctantly, before beginning the procedure. Spock quickly disappeared in a sparkle of white light, and Jim felt his stomach clench. There was a numb place in the back of his mind and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, then thirty. The transporter pad remained empty. Heart thudding as Bones' fingers tightened with each second that passed, Jim called out, “Mr. Scott?”

“He's in the pattern buffer … runnin' the algorithm fast as I can ...” Scotty replied in a tense and distracted tone.

“How long …?” Jim couldn't stop himself from speaking again. That numb spot was still there in his head. It didn't yet feel like Spock was dead, as far as he could tell with limited experience, but the sensation was still unnerving. He'd have to ask the ambassador if that was a normal artifact of transportation. Later. When he could think straight again.

“Almost … there.” Scotty's eyes lit up as he reversed the controls and slid the handle. White sparkles filled the pad again, but did not quite coalesce into solid form before beginning to fade again.

“Scotty!” Jim bellowed in protest, his eyes, his whole being focused on the figure that wasn't quite re-materializing.

“A glitch,” Scotty said, sounding more than a little stressed.

Jim heard the click of buttons being pushed and switches being flipped before suddenly the transporter's hum increased and the sparkles brightened. This time when the lights faded Spock was standing there, whole, breathing, and without wings.

A sigh of relief was echoed by all watching.

Bones was the first to step forward, scanning Spock thoroughly with his medical tricorder and taking a blood sample. As he glared at the readouts from his tests, Ambassador Selek stepped forward and offered Spock a gray, rather ratty looking sweater. Oddly enough, Spock's lips twitched in a near smile as he pulled on the sweater, and Jim felt a definite feeling of joy echoing through the corner of his mind that was no longer numb.

“Doctor?” Spock asked pointedly, still standing on the transporter pad.

“It'll take time to do the DNA analysis, but the initial tests indicate you're back to normal, hormone levels included,” Bones replied with a frown.

“Mr. Scott, if you would transport me down to the planet,” Spock said.

“We can't be sure that's safe until the DNA analysis is back,” Bones protested.

“It will take longer to run the test than we have time to remain in orbit, and I have matters to attend to on Shi'masu,” Spock countered. “One time through the transporter should do nothing worse than put me in the state I was before. A shuttle craft could be used then to transport me back to the ship. For now, I must attend to business on Shi'masu.”

Jim wanted to protest, to insist that Spock remain, but he had no right to force Spock to stay, to speak with him. He reminded himself he'd promised he'd support Spock's decision. “Let him go,” he ordered.  


[Chapter 11](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80177.html)


	11. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 11

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 10](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/79984.html)

Arriving on the surface in the same condition he'd left in, sans wings, Spock confirmed the success of Mr. Scott's procedure with the Enterprise before heading for his father's house on the outskirts of the single town in which all Vulcans currently lived. They had made a great deal of progress in the last two years, but there was still a long way to go to come close to recovering what they had lost.

Shi'masu was similar in atmosphere to how Vulcan had been. The land was dry and the air thin, at least relative to Earth. As long as it had been since Spock stood on Vulcan soil, it should have been impossible to pick out the subtle differences, and yet he felt as though he could sense the everything that was off, from the point two decrease in gravity to the three percent increase in air moisture.

It was not home.

His father had built a fine home in the traditional style. It held many similarities to the home Spock had grown up in, but somehow lacked that indescribable element that made it home. However, it was familiar enough to be a soothing balm to a mind and emotions that had been overtaxed in recent days. Spock wanted nothing more than to settle into the meditation garden and try and order his thoughts and regain his emotional control, but he knew that was a process that would take longer than the time he had to stay.

Inside, he found a message panel and the indicator that told him there were two messages waiting for him, just as his alternate self had informed him. Settling into the comfortable chair, he triggered the first message.

“Spock,” his father's voice said as Sarek's face appeared on the screen, “I have been informed of your difficulties. I can only hope that you will live to see this message. Selek has assured me that all possible data is being recorded to aid any future Vulcans who should find themselves in a similar situation, though I know your mother would wish you were not at risk in this matter.

“I know that you have several choices. Should you reach Shi'masu in time, know that Selek and I have discussed the matter of a proper choice for your mate. I have bowed to his superior experience as to your needs in finding an appropriate mind mate.” Spock wondered if he should meet the woman chosen for him before making his final decision. His alternate self surely had a more accurate idea of his needs than most and would certainly have chosen better than T'Pring. Even as children there had been no affinity between their minds.

“Another option I have been informed of is the young human woman you have been spending time with these last years.” Spock hung his head at these words and let himself wish there were a way to skip ahead accurately. Nyota was not a matter he wished to contemplate. “I have read her service record and found it exemplary, and those I have spoken with about her have spoken quite highly, both of her mind and appearance. Should she accept your offer, I look forward to meeting at the next opportunity, and welcoming her to our family.

“When I married your mother, many conservative elements our society protested, fearing that somehow a human would weaken us as Vulcans. I have never seen the logic in this argument in the past, and find it ever more specious now. They feared the emotions an untrained human can bleed into the minds around them, and even more that a human mind bonded to a Vulcan mind would result in even further weakening of Vulcan strength.

“It was this concern that resulted in much of the prejudice you faced as a youth. Even when you proved to have one of the finest minds of your generation, the strongest mental gifts, many were not prepared to accept the fact that your human blood had not weakened our bloodline. It was this illogical belief that resulted in the comments that drove you away from the Vulcan Science Academy. I am ashamed to admit that my first reaction to your actions was anger towards you, an anger I refused to release for many years despite your mother's attempts to point out the illogic. However, in time I came to see that the true culprit was the illogical prejudice I had not done enough to counter.

“In experience, I found no such weakening from your mother or you, and in fact have felt that my experience with her strengthened my ability to deal with those emotions that cannot be repressed. I should have expressed as much, to you and others, much sooner.

“At this time, there are many uncontrollable emotions surging amongst the survivors of Vulcan, but grief is the foremost. It is a grief so complex and overwhelming that in the years since Vulcan's destruction we have come no closer to managing or repressing that emotion. I have found that while I am on Earth, my emotions are clearer and under more control than when I am on Shi'masu. I have shared my theory that the grief of every Vulcan is being heightened by our close proximity as once we shared grief with our closest family and thereby weakened it, and the Council agrees.

“It is my belief, though as yet I do not have the evidence for more the speculation, that the addition of humans to our ranks will strengthen our emotional balance, not weaken it. It is my intention to choose a human bride before my next pon farr. I can only hope to find a woman half as loving as your mother.

“If your young woman can bring you such happiness as your mother brought me, then I wish you both well. Or, should you find another suitable amongst your crew, then I wish you the same.

“I know that Selek will update me on your condition, but a message directly from you would not be unwelcome.

“Live long, and prosper, my son.”

The screen blanked and the speaker went silent, but Spock did not move, his eyes staring unseeing at the screen. He did not quite know how to process his father's words. The hatred he had faced all his life took on new meaning and he knew he had a great deal about his father's people to reanalyze.

And then there was the matter of his father remarrying. He had known, intellectually, that his father would have to remarry. Sarek was too young to go long without a wife, no matter how much he loved Amanda. But it was an emotional hit Spock found he was not prepared for. He did not want to think of another woman entering his father's life, a woman who would claim the attentions and emotions of a father he was only just relearning to communicate with, who was only just beginning to admit to those emotions.

Shoving these thoughts aside for later analysis, Spock triggered the second message.

“My son, Selek has informed me that Lieutenant Uhura has refused your offer, but that Captain Kirk has stepped forward. I admit this was not a solution that I had considered, but I find it has its own logic. Whether you maintain your relationship with the captain or chose to seek another bondmate for the future, know that I will accept your choice, and that I will always be proud of you.

“Oh, and the ring your mother gave me is in the box on my dresser.

“Live long, and prosper, Spock.”

That was not what Spock had expected. But it was not unwelcome. It seemed his father's opinion would be one less factor to consider in the hours to come. Though, he was going to have to talk to his alternate self. The time stamp on this message indicated the ambassador had contacted their father about Jim stepping forward twelve hours before he actually did. Fascinating.

~o0o~

Jim threw himself into work after Spock beamed down to Shi'masu, ignoring concerned support from Bones and a curious look from Selek. He was not in the mood, not after that brush off. He had better things to do than wait and worry until Spock divorced him. There were reports to sign, research projects to check on, and he needed a better understanding of what all Scotty had done to his ship's engines. Jim had never approved a complete overhaul of the plasma conduits.

The reports took a few hours, though that was faster than Jim usually managed them. While it was interesting to read about the different projects going on around the ship, a lot of the standard reports were bureaucratic red tape and fluff, making it less than fun to wade through a couple dozen a day. Of course, that was on a good day. On a bad day there could be a couple hundred, usually because half the ship had been shot up because of some battle with someone stupid enough to think the Enterprise a soft target.

At least the reports from Engineering gave him a better idea what Scotty was up to. Those reports were often the first time Jim heard about mysterious little changes that caused incredible increases in engine speed, and sometimes humongous disasters that took a week at a starbase to fix. Those were getting rarer though. Jim still wanted to know why they were completely retrofitting the plasma system with the help of the Vulcans instead of just repairing the parts that were damaged by the high speeds they'd used to get to Shi'masu.

There were some interesting projects he'd enjoy poking his nose into in Stellar Cartography, but Jim wasn't in the mood to enjoy himself. So he skipped the science labs and headed towards Engineering to corner Scotty while neither of them was distracted by the issue of Spock's wings.

Jim only made it halfway to Engineering. The turbolift he'd taken paused mid path to allow another passenger on.

“Jim, I was hoping you would accompany me to Shi'masu now that your initial work was done,” Ambassador Spock intoned as the door slid shut behind him.

“What did you do? Bribe my yeoman?” Jim snapped. He was getting twitchy about the Spock issue, and the last thing he wanted was another emotional conversation with his bondmate's alternate self.

This Spock had learned to smile, and did so now in a subtle quirk of his lips. “No, simply an assumption based on previous experience,” he admitted slyly.

“I have other work to do if we're going to be ready to go to the Delgasian system as soon as Mr. Scott is done mucking with the engines,” Jim said, praying they'd get there soon.

Spock destroyed that wish by halting the turbolift. “Your crew can handle everything to make the Enterprise ready. You have trained them well. But you need to speak with Spock before meeting with the Council.”

“I thought I'd made it clear it was his decision,” Jim spat. He leaned back against the wall of the turbolift and crossed his arms with a frown on his face.

“I had hoped I had convinced you to speak with Spock before he made any decisions,” the ambassador said gently.

“He's the one who left,” Jim snapped.

“Maybe he hoped you'd follow,” Spock prompted.

Jim poked a mental finger at the spot in his mind where his Spock had taken up residence and felt … peace and warmth. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

But Spock was right. There wasn't anything he could do now that he couldn't also do on the flight to the Delgasian system. And he did need to speak with Spock. Maybe if he got what he was thinking out he'd be able to relax about the whole thing. Maybe.

“Fine,” he sighed. He let the older Spock change the destination of the turbolift and guide him to the transporter room.

~o0o~

Ambassador Selek abandoned Jim outside a large house surrounded by gardens. “He is in the garden,” was all he said before walking away. Not that Jim needed anyone to tell him that. He could tell that Spock was in the garden behind the house the same way he could tell that the ambassador paused and looked back after making it about a block down the road.

Being able to tell was kind of creeping Jim out.

So was the palpable sense of grief that blanketed the whole planet. Jim had noticed it in passing the last time they'd been through, but somehow it was more oppressive this time. Maybe that was because of his bond with Spock. Jim knew he was about as psi sensitive as a block of wood under normal circumstances.

He stood by the garden gate for several minutes, trying to gather that infamous courage to leap then look that Pike had so lauded when they first met. However, it was only when Spock stepped around the corner of the building and caught Jim's eye that the human finally opened the gate. As he walked up the path he watched Spock. After a week of seeing the Vulcan with wings wherever he went, Jim found he had to adjust to the loss. It felt like something was missing. Spock's whole balance was different, though there was a logical reason for that. But Jim wasn't thinking logically right now, just emotionally. He missed Spock's wings.

“Captain,” Spock said once Jim was within a few feet.

“Jim,” Jim corrected. “I'm not here as Captain of the Enterprise. I'm here as ...” But he didn't quite know how to phrase what he was here as.

“My bondmate?” Spock prompted. “I understand, Jim.”

Jim shivered a little at the sound of his name from Spock's lips. He couldn't look at the Vulcan anymore, and so transferred his attention to the rose bush Spock was standing beside. It was in bloom, every petal radiant, red and gold melting into each other. It was beautiful, except, come to think of it, he'd been under the impression that roses couldn't grow in the harsh conditions of Vulcan. Maybe Shi'masu was just enough gentler.

That, however, was not what he was here to think about.

“Look,” Jim said, turning back to Spock. He was bound and determined to get this out and over with. “I just have to say … Where we go from here, that has to be your decision. I'm sorry for tricking you, trapping you into this, but I'm not sorry you're still alive. But … I need you to know how I feel.” Jim paused to take a deep, noisy breath and realized he was close to tears. “What we shared was … incredible. And I don't just mean the sex, which was amazing. I mean that being close to you has been one of the most incredible experiences of my life, and given the choice I'd never give that up. But I know there are a lot of complications, and there're your feelings for Uhura. So, I really hope, no matter what we can stay friends, but really … that's up to you.”

Spock listened carefully, his full attention clearly focused on Jim. However, as soon as Jim stopped, Spock turned away to the rosebush. Jim would have walked away, or maybe even run, except he could feel nothing but positive emotions from Spock. Before he could change his mind and run anyway, Spock spoke.

“My mother told me once that on Earth flowers were given as gifts during courting to express one's emotional attachment to a potential mate.” Spock reached out and snapped a rose from the bush, the bud delicately unfurling towards full bloom. “Roses, especially red roses, were considered the optimal choice unless something else held particular emotional connotations for one or both in the couple. My mother was very fond of roses. However, Terran roses could not grow on Vulcan outside of a greenhouse. My father built her such a greenhouse, but she also spent years attempting to breed a rose that could grow naturally on Vulcan.” As he spoke, Spock carefully snapped the thorns from the stem of the rose. “She succeeded only months before Vulcan was destroyed, but immediately shipped seeds and cuttings to botanists all over the galaxy. One of the volunteer botanists from Earth brought the seeds these bushes grew from.”

Jim wasn't sure what to make of the subject change, but he also knew Spock was sharing something with him that held a great emotional importance. “These are your mother's roses? They're beautiful.”

“She called them Na'k'diwa,” Spock replied.

The last few years had sparked an interest in Vulcan for Jim beyond the bounds of the basic courses he'd taken for his xenolinguistics requirement, but he still wasn't as adept as he'd like. “For my ...” he parsed, uncertain how to translate the last element.

“Beloved,” Spock said gently, reaching forward and tucking the rose behind Jim's ear.

Jim reached up to touch the petals of the rose in surprise. They were soft and velvety under his fingers. The brush of his fingers wafted the rose's scent to his nose, a heady scent unlike quite any other rose he'd ever smelled. “Is that a hint?” he asked softly, catching Spock's eyes with his own.

“While this is not the path I would have chosen before Sardina III, I find now that it … feels right,” Spock replied. “There will be difficulties, but perhaps, together ...”

“Why Spock,” Jim said with a smile, “what a positively human sentiment.”

“I _am_ half human,” Spock pointed out.

“And you are half Vulcan,” Jim said. He held out one hand, first two fingers extended. “But maybe I can just call you mine.”

“An admirable sentiment.” Spock reached out and crossed his first two fingers with Jim's. As their fingers touched, a soft surge of positive emotion passed between them.

Jim gasped softly. “I could get used to that,” he admitted with a wry smile.

“I believe my mother would say that you were not hugged enough as a child,” Spock proposed.

“She'd probably be right,” Jim admitted. “But that's a conversation for another day.”

“We have many days ahead for such discussions,” Spock assured him.

“True.” Jim brushed his fingers against the rose behind his ear again. “Maybe we should see if Sulu would add a bush or two of these to his collection,” he suggested. “I kinda like them.”

Rather than smiling, Spock looked a little nervous. “I have one other gift for you,” he began hesitantly. “I am aware that it is common for humans to wear rings as a sign of their marital status.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring, the band wide and masculine with an oval on the top embossed with a crest. “This belonged to my mother's family for many generations. My father could not wear it because of the sensitivity of Vulcan hands, but my mother gave it to him all the same. I believe he carried it with him constantly while she was alive … I would be honored if you would wear it.”

Jim accepted the ring and slid it gently into his left ring finger. It was a little too big, so he slipped it to his middle finger and found the fit excellent. “The honor would be mine,” he insisted. “But are you sure your father won't mind?”

“He made the suggestion,” Spock said, wrapping his hand around Jim's as if to prevent the human from removing the ring again.

“Then I will be happy to wear it,” Jim assured him.

“Perhaps you would accompany me inside to send my father a message stating just that?”  


[Chapter 12](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80464.html)


	12. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 12

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 11](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80177.html)

The Vulcan council met in a large cave in the hill on the outskirts of the city. Jim had a feeling the location of the city had in part been chosen to be near this cave. Walking in, he noticed sections where the cave had been widened or heightened or otherwise cleaned up, but most of the cave was in its natural state. The rock was a rich red with golden highlights that reminded Jim of a faded version of the rose that he still had tucked behind his ear. For a moment he was able to forget about the confrontation that was coming, caught up in the beauty of the rocks lit by flickering lanterns along all the walls.

Shifting bodies and soft voices from the far end of the room brought Jim back to reality. His stomach clenched with nerves, but Spock sensed his turmoil and stroked a comforting hand down his arm.

~o0o~

Spock was struggling slightly to retain his calm. Finalizing his plans with Jim had been provided a relief from much of his emotional turmoil, but there were still many difficulties to face. Gaining the support of the council was not necessary, even for one of Spock's bloodline, but it would be welcome, as well as an additional layer of protection when facing Starfleet.

Further understanding of his father's words came when Spock found an added measure of calm in helping to sooth Jim.

“S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek, why have you come before us this day?”

The strong voice drew the attention of both Spock and Jim to depths of the cave where the six elders awaited them. Jim radiated surprise and confusion.

“They called us,” he whispered. Before Jim could announce as much more loudly, as he was likely to do, Spock stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting.

“I have come to inform you, as is proper, of my choice of bondmate,” Spock said formally. He held out his hand to his side, two fingers extended. Jim took the hint and stepped forward, crossing his first two fingers with Spock's. “James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise.”

“A human,” one figure said disdainfully. Elder Solark, Spock believed. He had never been supportive of Spock, though his friend, Stanor, had been far worse. Stanor had died under a rock when the passageway collapsed during their escape from Vulcan.

Spock raised one eyebrow in disapproval. He would no longer submit to such behavior. “I have heard such disdain my entire life, and my father since he approached this council with the intent to wed my mother, but I do not understand it. Such distaste for our foremost ally is illogical.”

Jim let out a snort of approval. When Spock dropped his hand, Jim wound their fingers together and stood at his shoulder. It was an immodest display in Vulcan culture, but Spock allowed it and felt amusement at the barely hidden shock on many of the elder's faces. Except his alternate self, who was almost smiling.

“Is it their emotional surface that you find so unpleasant?” Spock asked politely. “Because it cannot be their intelligence, diligence, and curiosity. Yet, when I was accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy, I was informed that it was unexpected due to the handicap of my human genetics.”

Spock felt Jim's outrage at his description but quelled any outburst with a squeeze of his fingers.

“Explain your logic,” T'Pau ordered in a thick accent.

“Humans can be illogical entities, letting their emotions rule,” Spock began.

“Hey,” Jim protested softly.

“It is that very illogic that gives them an increased flexibility. Their regular exposure to emotions increases their ability to manage their lives through emotional difficulties. While they may become emotionally compromised, most quickly recover. This is a technique which Vulcans would do well to learn if they are to survive recent events.”

“They?” T'Pau asked pointedly.

“I am not human, and not Vulcan. Accepted by neither, should I claim either?” Spock asked forcefully.

T'Pau's eyebrow rose with dignity and surprise. “You are of my bloodline, the one who saved the Council of Elders when Vulcan was destroyed,” she intoned. “You have felt the burn of pon farr?”

“I have known that trial,” Spock agreed.

“Then you are Vulcan,” T'Pau announced firmly.

Spock was shocked. While he had never faced the direct disapproval of his family matriarch, he had long known it existed. Others had used her arguments against his father's marriage of his mother to needle him in an attempt to elicit an emotional response on many occasions. Now he was suddenly welcomed. He wondered if his alternate self had something to do with this change, and a quick glance at the other man showed hints of a smug grin, carefully hidden from the other elders. Those other elders were sharing their own versions of surprised expressions.

“And what say you, James Kirk, son of George?” T'Pau asked, finally acknowledging Jim.

“I say that for a race that claims to embrace Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, you sure are a snooty and insular bunch,” Jim proclaimed. “If so many of you consider humans so inferior, why form the Federation? Why make first contact at all? But we illogical, emotional beings have learned your technologies and improved them, have expanded faster and further, and even saved you from yourselves if the history books are correct.”

T'Pau's solid expression seemed to melt slightly at that reminder. She had been the one to sign the Federation charter, who had stood beside Captain Archer when the Romulan traitor had been found in the Vulcan Council. Jim had chosen his argument well.

“You believe we act counter to Kol-Ut-Shan?” Elder Solark asked.

“Embracing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations means acknowledging the emotional path as equal to the emotionless path, that Terran intelligence can match Vulcan intelligence, and Andorian, and Klingon. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but none are inherently superior,” Jim replied. “By saying that Spock was handicapped in reaching the Vulcan Science Academy by his human half, you implied Vulcan superiority. By expressing disapproval that Spock chose a human for telsu instead of a Vulcan, you imply that a human bondmate is inferior. Those implications are the very opposite of embracing Kol-Tu-Sha.”

“Kol-Ut-Shan,” Spock corrected. He would have to work with Jim on the human's pronunciation of the Vulcan language.

Ambassador Selek steepled his hands before his chest, his eyes atwinkle, and said, “As I have been saying for years.”

“Yours is a unique perspective,” T'Pau said.

“But no less valid than any other,” Selek countered. “In my years of experience with humans, I have found great possibilities in the theories of v'tos ka'tur.”

“Our race nearly destroyed itself before Surak taught us to suppress emotion and follow logic,” Surent protested.

“But was it the suppression of emotion that saved us, or the following of logic?” Selek said. It was an question Spock had been considering himself since Vulcan's destruction. “I once sought kolinahr, but only found peace in friendship. Perhaps our people do not miss what they have not known, but that does not mean life is not richer with some emotion.”

“That is an argument for another day,” T'Pau intoned.

“Is it?” Jim cut in. “I think that the very point today is whether Vulcans can withstand being exposed to emotion, human or otherwise. Spock choosing a human telsu is only part of the situation, though it is an easy one to point out. The real issue is that your entire race is on the verge of self destructing with grief. Emotion can only be suppressed so long or so well, even for you. You have no training in managing your emotions, no idea how to pass through grief when everyone feels it just as deeply. And that is exactly what you must learn to do. You can't just suppress the loss of most of your race.”

“My father told me today that he feels more at ease on Earth than Shi'masu because of the shared emotions,” Spock added. “Humans are emotional, but they know how to manage them. Our race,” he saw T'Pau nod slightly at his choice of possessive, “cannot manage our grief. If we are to survive to repopulate, then we must learn, and we must look to the other races with whom we share the galaxy to teach us.”

“Humans would be honored to share this knowledge, to help those who helped us to the stars,” Jim finished. “But you must admit the need.”

“And is it your illogical mind that brings you to these conclusions?” T'Pau asked. Spock was in shock, fairly certain she had just made a joke.

“My illogic can be an asset, but in this case I believe it is logic that guides me,” Jim replied politely.

T'Pau nodded. “Spock, you came today before us to announce your choice. I see great possibility in your chosen. However, first I must ask. Why him? Not why a human, but why this one?”

Spock considered her question carefully. “You are concerned it is out of obligation.” A faint flicker of an eyebrow confirmed his analysis. “I am grateful to James Kirk for saving my life, but he has done so before and will again, as I have saved his. It is part of our … friendship.” Ambassador Selek positively glowed. “My choice to pursue a permanent bond rather than requesting rel-san-vek is based on a different foundation. I find our minds compatible, there is much we can teach each other, and a wise elder once told me to do what feels right. This feels right.”

T'Pau stepped forward, stopping just before Spock. She raised her left hand, fingers spread. Spock was surprised. She wished to confirm his words and the depth of his bond with her own mind, a step rarely taken. It was even more amazing in that it implied she would be looking at a non-Vulcan mind when she checked Jim, something practically unheard of. Spock could only nod, and her fingers settled against his psi points. It was not as it had been with Jim, an overwhelming sharing. This was simply a touch, a taste, getting a feel for his mind and his bond.

Whatever she found, when she dropped her hand she turned to Jim and asked, “And you, James Kirk?”

“My life has been off kilter since Nero appeared and killed my father,” Jim said. “Since I joined Starfleet, my friends have been helping me become the man I should have been, Spock most of all. In what we shared the last few days, I have felt more peace than any other time I can recall. I don't want to give that up.”

T'Pau looked closely at him, then raised her right hand. Spock felt Jim's nervousness, but nothing showed on the surface as the human nodded. Spock could not sense their interaction, T'Pau must have blocked him, but something clearly transferred between the elder and the human. When T'Pau stepped back, there was a lightness in her eyes that Spock had never seen before.

“A truer mating of minds I have rarely seen. Spock, go forth with the blessing of our family. Perhaps there are things your telsu may teach us yet.”

When T'Pau returned to her fellow elders, they did not depart as Spock expected. Instead, she looked pointedly at the others and began to speak in low tones that did not carry. There was a pressure in the air as hands touched and words were whispered. A vehement argument broke out, but was quickly quelled somehow. Whatever it was over, T'Pau and Selek seemed to be on the same side.

Spock tightened his fingers around Jim's as T'Pau turned back towards them. What other surprises could she be planning?

~o0o~

Jim's stomach was no more settled, but he stood confidently all the same. He had faced down Nero as a cadet and had handled plenty of negotiations over the last two years. He wasn't going to let a few old Vulcans shatter him. Though he had learned quite a bit about his first officer, his husband. He had made a note to himself to have a quiet talk with the crew about being a bit less speciesist to their first officer. If Spock could be acknowledged as Vulcan, maybe he could be human too.

The blessing was an unexpected surprise, as was the mind touch. She had been so gentle. He wasn't quite sure what it was all about, but based on the expressions of the other elders it was unexpected. That did nothing to comfort him when T'Pau turned back to them. There was a subtle look in her eyes he could not place, though the other Spock, Selek, looked insufferably pleased so it couldn't be all bad.

When Spock's hand tightened on his, Jim leaned a whisker closer until the sleeves of their uniforms brushed.

“James Kirk, for your efforts in saving our race, your race, and the Federation itself, we thank you,” T'Pau began.

Jim had to struggle to keep his jaw off the floor. He was well aware that Vulcans never expressed gratitude.

“Know you are welcome always and may consider Shi'masu your home.”

Jim didn't quite know what to make of that, but he couldn't miss the shock radiating from Spock. He didn't have a chance to ask for clarification, however, because the elders immediately departed. All but Selek, who quickly approached them.

“Congratulations,” Selek announced.

Jim let out a deep sigh, his shoulders feeling like they dropped two inches with the release of air. “Thanks.”

Spock looked at his older counterpart with a raised eyebrow. “Had you any doubts it would turn out so?” he asked wryly.

“I had confidence it would go well,” Selek admitted. “But never that it would go so well.”

“Then you did not suggest …?” Spock began.

“No. That was T'Pau's idea,” Selek replied, confusing Jim no end.

“Fascinating,” Spock replied.

Before Jim could ask just what the hell they were talking about, Selek changed the subject.

“I know there are matters you must attend to before the Enterprise departs in two point eight three hours, but there is an introduction I wish to make.”

“Of course,” Spock replied, and Jim found himself following the two hybrids out of the cave. In the glow of the sunset outside the cave entrance were two women, female Vulcans that looked perhaps a little older than Spock.

“Spock,” Selek said, “I had approached T'Mara and T'Hass about your need for a new mate before Jim stepped forward.”

Spock held his right hand up, fingers separated into the Vulcan salute. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” Jim did his best to imitate Spock.

“We were honored to be approached by the family of such a hero,” one woman said, echoing Spock's action. “T'Mara and I lost our mates when Vulcan was destroyed.”

“We grieve with thee,” Jim replied formally.

“It was our curiosity about other cultures that saved us. We were on a cultural exchange with Earth,” T'Mara continued.

“They have a request for both of you,” Selek said.

“While we were honored to be approached,” T'Mara said, “It has been our decision not to take new mates save each other. T'Hass has been my closest friend since childhood and I have never met another with whom my mind fits as well.”

“However, it is logical that we do our parts to repopulate our race,” T'Hass added. “As must you. We propose that we combine our efforts.”

Jim blinked twice, trying to process her words. He turned to Spock and asked, “Did I understand that correctly?”

“T'Mara and T'Hass are offering to bear and raise my children,” Spock replied.

“Both of your children,” Selek corrected with a pointed look that Jim couldn't interpret.

“Me?” Jim asked in utter surprise. “I'm not Vulcan.”

“You are Spock's telsu,” T'Mara replied. “It is proper.”

“Such arrangements have been made before between two couples of the same gender,” Spock replied. “My apologies for misinterpreting your request.”

“Given the rejection Ambassador Selek has described you as facing, it is a logical mistake,” T'Hass said. “It was the rejection that was illogical.”

“We would accept no such disapproval of our offspring. Many of the conservative elements died with Vulcan. Your children will be a reminder of why Vulcan must be more accepting of differences, of change,” T'Mara said.

“Uh, Spock, can we talk about this a minute?” Jim protested. “Not four hours ago we weren't even sure we were going to stay together. Now we're talking about kids? How are we going to manage that on the Enterprise?”

Spock turned to Jim and gently took his hand. “Ambassador Selek informed me earlier today that Vulcans have built a repository for genetic material. Many females are being encouraged to bear children by several males to widen the gene pool. I had thought that through this my line might continue.”

“That's great,” Jim said, knowing that children had been a concern for Spock. He liked the idea of Spock having kids. It was the idea of his own kids that scared Jim senseless.

“With T'Mara and T'Hass' offer, I find the idea of our children being raised together appealing,” Spock admitted. It almost brought tears to Jim's eyes.

“I had a crap childhood,” Jim whispered. “I don't know if I could stand to have kids I never saw. My mother was never around, and Frank … I'd be an awful father.”

“It would not be the same,” Spock assured him. “You do not have to decide now. We have time to discuss before a decision must be made.”

“How? We have to leave orbit soon, and there's no way to know when we'll be back,” Jim said.

“We can leave samples with the genetic bank now. Before any can be used, we must give approval, or our next of kin should one of us die,” Spock said.

“We would raise your children with the greatest respect,” T'Hass said. Only then did Jim notice that her fingers were entwined with T'Mara's. “They should know the Vulcan way, but also the Terran traditions. We have extensively studied both, as well as others.”

“Ambassador Selek has offered to share his understanding of walking the path between logic and emotion,” T'Mara added. “T'Hass and I wish to learn, and our children would be able to choose their path. There would be no disgrace in following one path over the other.”

“I would ensure you received regular updates,” Selek offered. It was something about the eager look in the older Spock's eyes that caused Jim to suddenly decide.

“Let's do it,” Jim said, turning back to Spock.

“You do not have to decide now,” Spock assured him.

“It feels right,” Jim replied. His fingers reached up to brush the flower that still rested behind his ear. Something in the look that T'Mara and T'Hass shared reminded him of the love that must have created that rose. And Selek looked so excited. Those kids would always have two parents and a doting grandfather, even if Jim and Spock were never involved. “And if I don't decide now I'll just spend the next few days freaking out.”

Spock's eyebrow rose to his bangs. “And you will not with the decision made?”

Jim laughed. “Probably. But can you imagine Bones' expression?”

~o0o~

When Jim and Spock materialized in the transporter room, something felt off to Jim, not in the room but in himself. He had just settled down, not just entering into a relationship with his first officer but marrying the other man, with the approval of the Vulcan council, and he'd followed it up by making an arrangement to have children. Spock had certainly made sure the process of depositing the genetic samples for those kids was fun. At the time it felt like a confirmation that it was all real, not just a pon farr dream.

Now it felt like a dream again. After all that, being on the Enterprise with Scotty looking eagerly at him felt completely surreal. Here it felt like nothing had changed. Well, nothing but him, because he could still feel the ring on his hand and an echo of Spock's mind in the back of his own, and he could remember all those impossible events. It seemed as though there should be some obvious difference given how his world had tilted on its axis, and yet here everything looked the same.

“How's my ship?” Jim asked Scotty after staring a little too long. “You finish tearing her engines apart?”

“She's ship shape and ready to go,” Scotty assured his captain.

“Good. The Delgasians are still expecting us.” Jim found the mantle of captain fell into place with ease as he strode to the Bridge. He had worried that with so long out of touch, with so many changes, he might have trouble, but the surreal feeling faded, mostly, and the sense that all was right with the world settled in. As he strode onto the Bridge, that feeling snapped into place. His alpha shift crew was in place, his chair was available, Spock was at his side, and the Enterprise was purring away.

“Mr. Sulu, set course for the Delgasian system,” Jim ordered. “We have an investiture to get to.”

“At warp seven, we will arrive a day after the end of the ceremony,” Chekov cut in, sounding oddly pleased despite the bad news.

“Captain,” Scotty cut in before Jim could comment. He was standing next to Chekov, bouncing with excitement, his grin almost wider than his face. “I'm proud ta announce tha' we fixed the flaw with the plasma conduits.”

“What exactly are you saying, Mr Scott?” Spock asked.

“We can make warp eight now, indefinitely,” Scotty crowed. “Maybe even eight point five.”

“You are certain of your calculations, Mr. Scott?” Spock asked.

“Your Vulcan engineers confirmed my numbers when they helped with the install,” Scotty assured them.

“At warp eight, we will arrive at Delgasian IV at the end of the investiture ceremony,” Chekov chimed in.

“If everything proceeds according to schedule,” Spock interjected.

“What are the chances of blowing a conduit at higher than warp eight?” Jim asked cautiously. If they could arrive before the end of the investiture it would get Admiral Mobatsu off his back. Somewhat anyway.

“Simulations are good ta warp eight point two, but the numbers get a wee bit fuzzy after,” Scotty answered eagerly.

“I would appreciate the opportunity to study your simulations,” Spock said.

“Copies are waiting in your quarters,” Scotty assured him.

“You're sure about that number?” Jim asked.

“Captain,” Scotty said, aghast. “I'd never suggest a number I wasna certain of.”

“Of course,” Jim placated. “Mr. Sulu, warp eight point two, if you please. I'd like to reach the hall before the investiture is over.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sulu said eagerly. Energy all over the Bridge, and likely the whole ship, was high as the stars appeared to stretch around the Enterprise as she leapt into warp.  


[Chapter 13](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80757.html)


	13. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 13

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 12](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80464.html)

Jim stayed on the Bridge another hour, until the crew had transitioned shifts. As comforting as it was to be back on his ship, on his bridge, in his chair, he was tired and more than ready to get some sleep. Preferably spent wrapped around his new husband.

That thought came as he watched Uhura leave, which reminded him they did have a few loose ends to wrap up. Damn.

Jim handed over the con and headed out, Spock more than willing to come along with only a quick gesture as a hint. Or maybe he felt that Jim wanted to talk. This whole bond thing was going to take some getting used to.

Once they were both in the turbolift, Jim paused it. He didn't want this overheard by accident. “Um, have you thought about what we're going to tell Uhura?” he asked.

“I am uncertain what you are speaking of,” Spock replied. “She ended our relationship when she refused my offer of marriage.”

Jim bit his lip. “She's not going to quite see it that way,” he said, trying to figure out how to explain. “Women, well, human women … look, Uhura was emotionally attached to you, even if she chickened out when the chips were down. She begged hard for a second chance, and isn't going to be happy to find out that not only did I refuse her, I took her place and then we decided to keep it that way.”

Spock looked uncertain, maybe a little disbelieving. “Nyota is a strong, logically minded woman. Certainly she will understand ...”

“Spock,” Jim cut in, “no matter how logical she is on the Bridge, this is going to cut to the core. She's still a human woman, with human emotions.”

“I bow to your superior experience,” Spock said. “What do you advise?”

~o0o~

Spock struggled with an illogical sense of shame as he approached the private quarters of Nyota Uhura. He had not felt so before Jim had explained. Human courtship was in many ways still a mystery to him despite the length of his relationship with Nyota. She had been intrigued by the Vulcan courtship traditions and willing to explain human traditions when she felt the need for something more in their relationship. But the emotional aspects of courtship were something they rarely discussed, and the emotional aspects of breaking up they never discussed.

Jim had explained that while it was Nyota who had rejected Spock, there would still be difficulties of emotions and they did owe it to her to explain the new situation. Spock felt obliged, as the one who had shared a relationship with her, to be the one to explain. This did not mean he did not miss the presence of Jim at his side. He had a feeling there would be many verbal missteps in the next hour.

Nyota opened her door, looking in surprise at Spock before gesturing for him to enter.

“You look better,” she said softly. “It was good to see you back on the Bridge.”

“I have recovered,” Spock agreed.

Looking uneasy, Nyota sat on the couch in her main room. “I'm glad we made it to Shi'masu in time, but … why wouldn't you give me a second chance?”

Spock had been expecting that complaint. “I cannot be certain,” he admitted as he sat in a chair. He did not feel it would be proper to join her on the couch under these circumstances. “I believed I was behaving logically. In your initial refusal you gave several logical reasons why we should not wed, and to set those aside would be illogical. However, I believe in my emotional state it is possible I was punishing you for refusing.”

“Spock,” she breathed. “I'm so sorry. I misunderstood.”

“It is true I could have done a better job explaining the situation,” he conceded.

“So … what now?” she asked in a tone Spock had never heard before. “Will you be returning to Shi'masu to be with your new wife?”

“No,” he replied. Jim had been right, she had not understood the significance of the delays in their trip. “We did not reach Shi'masu in time for me to take a Vulcan bride.”

Brow furrowed, she said, “But you're well now. You survived. Captain Kirk said you needed a mate for that.”

“He was correct,” Spock answered. “I would not have survived without his assistance.”

“I don't understand.” Her voice took on a tone of anger, an emotion Spock had come to recognize.

“Jim,” Spock said, marveling at the sound of his telsu's name, “came to me when there was no other option. I would have died shortly after the engines were shut down for repairs without his aid.”

While her face was deadpan and quite pale, Nyota's eyes sparkled with emotion. “You … you … he said you wouldn't accept me … how could you accept him?” she spat.

“It felt right,” was the only answer that Spock could give. There was also the matter of Jim's logical arguments, but Spock found the words to explain would not come.

Any further response from Nyota was cut off when the comm panel in her quarters attracted their attention. “What?” she snapped into it.

“Commander Spock is needed on the Bridge,” was the announcement.

Nyota acknowledged and cut the line. “Our discussion is not over,” she informed him before walking to the door.

“I expected as much,” he admitted. “I am sorry that we hurt you.”

She did not respond but followed in stony silence to the Bridge. When they arrived, Admiral Mobatsu was on the screen, glaring at Jim. Jim was looking a bit ragged but was glaring back from the captain's chair with equal venom. The crew was well aware of the enmity that had been building between the admiral and their captain, if not the why, and those on the Bridge sat alert for the coming conflict.

Spock stepped up beside Jim's chair, and Nyota joined her compatriot in communications at the communications console. Admiral Mobatsu sent them both a nasty look. He had been aware of the relationship between Nyota and Spock for over a year, but his every attempt to cause trouble had been quietly blocked by Jim and Admiral Pike. Spock had been grateful for the support before, but now he was concerned that it would make the announcement to Starfleet of his relationship with Jim that much more difficult.

“Commander Spock, Captain Kirk,” Admiral Mobatsu spat. “What is the meaning of this message I have just received?”

“You will have to be more specific than that, Admiral,” Jim said politely, if evasively.

“The Vulcan embassy has just informed Starfleet that all your paperwork should be changed to show your species as Vulcan instead of Terran,” the Admiral spat. “What is this nonsense?”

Spock felt a surge of puzzlement from Jim, though the captain's expression remained bland. They both ignored the gasps from around the room. With a curiously cocked eyebrow, Jim turned to Spock and said, “Perhaps you could explain to the Admiral, Mr. Spock.”

“Of course, Captain,” Spock said. Turning to the screen and the admiral he explained. “For his many positive contributions to the survival of the Vulcan species, Captain Kirk has been invited to consider Shi'masu his home. Traditionally, considering the planet Vulcan home is what made one Vulcan, and this relationship is considered to have transferred to Shi'masu since the destruction of Vulcan. Therefore, to consider Shi'masu his home means the Captain is Vulcan by the oldest definition of our species. It is an honor that has rarely been conferred upon an outsider.” He turned to Jim and caught his telsu's blue eyes. “It is an honor my mother was never accorded.”

Jim's eyes brightened with a hint of tears and the captain laid a comforting touch on Spock's hand, a momentary action only but one which conveyed a new level of closeness to any who was watching. Spock accepted the comfort and ignored the probable gossip that would now circulate, for now.

“Old cultural traditions have no impact on Federation standards for species identification,” Admiral Mobatsu interrupted.

Spock turned back to the screen and raised an eyebrow slightly. “Federation law was founded on a combination of Terran and Vulcan traditions. The definition of the Vulcan species was grandfathered in from the tradition I described.”

“So, by Federation law ...” Jim began.

“You are legally Vulcan,” Spock confirmed. “It is simply a law which, never having been used in this manner in the years since the inception of the Federation, has been forgotten.”

“This is absurd,” Admiral Mobatsu blustered. “He's human.”

“Biologically, yes,” Spock agreed.

“There's no precedent for this insanity. I won't process this nonsense ...”

“That is incorrect,” Spock interrupted. “I am half human and half Vulcan, biologically speaking, but my documentation has me specified as Vulcan. This is not because I was born on Vulcan rather than Earth, but because I can consider Vulcan home. Legally, I am Vulcan. I am the precedent.” Spock did not regret the slight twisting of the truth. He had not been fully accepted by his father's people until earlier that day, but his paperwork had never reflected that.

Admiral Mobatsu went red under his dark skin, his mouth opening and closing silently as his throat closed with rage. “This … this … this,” he finally stuttered. “I will protest this nonsense to the highest level.”

Jim shot Spock a look filled with repressed laughter. They both knew that in this case there was nothing that the Admiral could do. It was Federation law.

Before anyone could come up with a reply to that absurdity, Admiral Pike appeared at Admiral Mobatsu's shoulder. “Ah, excellent. You're still talking to the Enterprise,” Admiral Pike said. “Jim, Spock, I wanted to say congratulations.”

This time Jim let a puzzled look cross his face to match the feeling of puzzlement he projected down their bond. “Admiral?” he asked politely.

“The Vulcan Embassy just filed your marriage certificate.” Admiral Pike waved a PADD towards the camera even though it was impossible to read the contents that way.

The Bridge crew looked at their captain, clearly waiting for the joke, all except Nyota. She could be heard letting out a shocked gasp, and Spock had a feeling it would be wise to avoid her for a few days. She must have assumed they had ended their relationship now that he was stable.

Jim blanched at Admiral Pike's words. “Already,” he gasped. “I thought they'd take a little longer than that,” he muttered softly for Spock's ears only.

“Marriage?” Admiral Mobatsu bellowed. “What is this travesty?”

“Commander Spock and Captain Kirk were married according to Vulcan tradition three days ago,” Admiral Pike said proudly. “The Vulcan Council ratified the occasion a few hours ago. The Embassy was kind enough to send me a copy when they sent the formal paperwork to the Federation databanks.”

“Who would think to comm Pike?” Jim asked quietly.

At the same time, Admiral Mobatsu bellowed, “How dare you flout regulations like this. You are both going to be transferred immediately ...”

Spock was pleased to be able to cut the Admiral off with calm, confident words. “No, we will not.”

“Excuse me?” Admiral Mobatsu puffed up with outrage. “What right do you have to tell me ...”

“A number of laws and regulations were grandfathered into Federation law and Starfleet regulations,” Spock interrupted again. “One states that Vulcans are not forbidden from serving with their telsu – their marriage partner. It is assumed that Vulcans will follow the dictates of logic over emotion and so there is no risk in letting them serve together.”

“When did you find that out?” Jim asked before the Admiral could bellow again.

“Ambassador Selek pointed it out to me earlier today,” Spock replied.

“You could have mentioned that this afternoon,” Jim grumbled.

“I had thought the ambassador had told you before you beamed to Shi'masu,” Spock said.

Over their private conversation came the bellow of Admiral Mobatsu. “That is absurd.” This time Admiral Pike cut him off.

“Actually, it's true. The rule is mostly ignored because of how few Vulcans are in Starfleet, but Ambassador Sarek was kind enough to highlight it in a document he sent along with the marriage certificate.”

“Your father filed the paperwork?” Jim hissed.

“He is the Ambassador to Earth,” Spock pointed out. He was puzzled by it but still pleased that his father was showing such support for his relationship with Jim.

“Though the document is signed by Ambassador Selek,” Admiral Pike added.

Jim chuckled. “That's it, you can't tell me that Vulcans don't have a sense of humor ever again.”

Spock found the corner of his lips quirking slightly. It did seem as though his alternate self had set up this incident. “I am not certain that Ambassador Selek is a good representative of the average Vulcan.”

“Ah, but he _is_ Vulcan,” Jim said pointedly.

“Well, I just wanted to say congratulations,” Admiral Pike said. He paused, looking at something behind Jim and Spock. The loud sob from Nyota gave a probable cause for his distraction, but Jim and Spock did their best to ignore it. Drawing attention to her emotional turmoil would not bring comfort at this time. “Umm … So sorry for interrupting your call, Admiral.”

“I will file a formal complaint about this whole mess,” Admiral Mobatsu announced. “We'll see just how long this situation lasts.”

“No, you won't, Admiral,” Admiral Pike cut in. “It's all quite legal. I can quote the regulation numbers if you need.”

“That regulation is not relevant,” Admiral Mobatsu said viciously. “They are not Vulcan, neither of them.”

Admiral Pike looked surprised. “Commander Spock has always been considered Vulcan. To do otherwise would be a grave insult to the Vulcan people. His father is the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth.”

That cut Admiral Mobatsu off. “We shall see,” he finally said and left the room in an audible state of anger.

“Well, good luck with the Delgasians,” Admiral Pike said with a hint of smugness. Everyone knew he would handle Admiral Mobatsu yet again. “I look forward to seeing the report on this. I'd love to know how it all came together.”

~o0o~

The word of Jim and Spock's wedding had spread even faster than usual on the Enterprise grapevine, or so it seemed to Jim walking back from the Bridge. Every crew member they passed was either giving them odd looks or clapping and cheering, or both. Jim was relieved to escape into his quarters, barely looking as Spock walked past to go to his own.

Flopping onto the couch, Jim let out a deep sigh.

He had only a moment to rest before the chime on his door rang. Fortunately, the trigger for the door was within reach without having to move. Spock was standing outside and came in without waiting for a comment from Jim.

“Should rig you with an entrance code,” Jim muttered as he let his head land on the back of the couch. “You wanna move in here? Over there? Separate quarters?”

“I think we have plenty of time to discuss such things later,” Spock suggested. Jim was pleased when Spock chose to sit on the free end of the couch. “Now is not the time to make further momentous decisions.”

“Been enough of those already today,” Jim agreed. He could have lived without half of them being told to the entire beta shift Bridge crew. He would have told them, at some point. Eventually. Probably.

Jim looked over at his stiffly sitting first officer, his telsu, and decided to push his luck. He twisted so that he was leaning against Spock instead of the corner of the couch, his head propped on the half-Vulcan's shoulder. It took a moment, but Spock's posture shifted, supporting Jim's weight instead of staying ramrod straight.

“How'd it go with Uhura?” Jim asked softly.

“We had only begun to discuss the matter when Admiral Mobatsu summoned us,” Spock replied. “I had not yet mentioned our marriage.”

“Shit,” Jim muttered, pressing his face into Spock's shoulder. “No wonder she was so upset.”

“That is an accurate assessment,” Spock agreed. He wound his fingers with Jim's of his own initiative, his thumb rubbing against the ring.

“You wanna try again?” Jim asked, rubbing Spock's fingers gently in return. “Might be wise to avoid her for awhile, though. We're probably going to get the stink eye from some of the female crew.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge of the human female,” Spock said. The comment was deadpan, but Jim could sense the perverse humor in it.

“Experience hard learned,” Jim drawled.

“Fascinating,” Spock said. “But I have no desire to go anywhere this night. I will reconsider tomorrow.”

“That mean you're mine for the night?”

Spock's eyebrow raised. “Not every interaction will be as … intense as it was during pon farr.”

Jim chuckled. “Don't think I could survive that every time,” he admitted. “Hope you weren't concerned ...” Jim felt an odd burst of emotion from Spock, a bit of embarrassment, a bit of agreement, a bit of desire. It was the last he decided to focus on. “Though I am hoping we can try for something like that more than once ever seven years.”

“That can likely be arranged,” Spock replied. His fingers trailed over the back of Jim's hand, lingering around the ring.

“I'd …” Jim began, but was interrupted when a large yawn erupted. “I'd settle for a bit of a fondle and some good company while I sleep,” he admitted after he yanked his jaw back into alignment.

“Quite wise,” Spock said. It was deadpan again, but Jim could feel the tickle in the back of his mind that he was pretty sure meant Spock was teasing him. “Perhaps you would join me for dinner?”

“I am not going out there to face those gossip mongers again,” Jim protested. He hauled himself upright and untangled his hands.

“It will be necessary at some point,” Spock pointed out.

“Not tonight,” Jim insisted even as his stomach was rude enough to growl.

“Not tonight,” Spock agreed. “I requested Yeoman Rand bring something from the mess. We can remain here.”

Jim hung his head and rubbed his palms against his face. “You do realize that's almost worse for our reputations,” he grumbled.

“I believe it is quite fitting for your reputation,” Spock suggested. “It is our … honeymoon I believe is the human parlance.”

The blood drained from his face as Admiral Pike's words suddenly came back to Jim. “I'm going to kill Spock.”

“What have I done?” Spock asked. His concern and confusion broke through Jim's shock.

“Not you,” he assured his telsu, wrapping his hands around Spock's sensitive Vulcan fingers. “The other you. He told Pike the day we were married, and Pike told the Bridge crew. If anyone stops to think they'll realize we were married while you were supposedly fighting for your life.”

“I was, in essence,” Spock pointed out.

“Yeah, but what if the crew thinks the whole thing was some kind of hoax. If someone were to report that we were really playing hooky ...”

“The Elders will correct any such report,” Spock said confidently. “That is not a matter for you to concern yourself with now.”

Jim wanted to protest further. The crew might lose all respect for him over this. Even if no one reported such suspicions, it could cause any number of problems locally. But before he could express this, the chime to the door rang, and Spock shook Jim free to answer it.

Yeoman Rand was standing outside, a tray of food in her hands and a wide eyed expression on her face that no amount of professionalism could cover. Her eyes bounced frantically between Spock and Jim with a mixture of eagerness, concern, and curiosity.

“Thank you, Yeoman,” Spock said stiffly, taking the tray from her.

“Um … right. My pleasure, sir,” she replied. Before the door could close, she took half a step forward to block the track. “I … um, well, I just wanted to say congratulation, sirs. A lot of us are really pleased to hear about you two. Really, more of us should have seen it coming, the way you two always fought ...”

“Thank you, Yeoman,” Jim snapped, cutting her off. “Your sentiment is appreciated, but it has been a long day ...”

She got the hint, thank goodness, and stepped back. Jim let out a sigh of relief as the door shut.

Hauling himself to the table, Jim collapsed into one chair as Spock settled in the other. The tray Spock set on the table held several simple dishes, all suitable for stomachs strained by too long without regular food or for Vulcans. For once, Jim didn't care that the only options before him were vegetarian.

They ate in silence, and as they ate Jim let his mind wander over the events of the last few hours. He had so many questions he didn't know where to begin. What was most important. But then Jim was hit by one of the things Spock said back before the procedure to fix his wings.

“You changed your will?” Jim blurted.

“There was some risk I would die in the process of trying to correct the DNA modification ...” Spock began.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jim cut in. “I don't like it, but I get it. And you're fine. Scotty worked his usual magic, and you're fine.”

“As I have yet to hear back from Dr. McCoy about the DNA analysis there is no way to be certain of that, though the evidence we have so far does led to that conclusion,” Spock said. “However, given the risk it was logical to update my will to reflect the recent changes in my life.”

“Anything I need to know about?” Jim asked uncertainly. “Anything Uhura is going to get mad about?”

“Nyota was never in my will,” Spock replied.

“Why not?” Jim asked, his brow furrowed in surprise. “You two were together for years.”

“There was no formal bond between us, nor did I intend for there to be one at the time,” Spock said. “I had considered leaving her my ka'athyra but had never followed through.”

“So what did you change?” Jim asked, trying to remember just what a ka'athyra was.

“My lyre,” Spock replied, answering the unspoken question before the spoken one. “I left all my possessions to you save a few bequests.”

Jim wondered if he'd ever get his jaw off the table again. “Me?” he squeaked.

“It is appropriate as my telsu,” Spock said.

“Huh,” Jim breathed. “Should do the same, I guess. Mine leaves everything to Bones at the moment.”

“You leave nothing to your family?” Spock asked. His eyebrow raised slightly, indicating surprise.

The question was better ignored for now, as far as Jim was concerned. He and Spock had touched on elements of their childhoods in conversations over the past two years but had never covered the meat of the matter. Jim was in no mood to get into it now. The data was all there, shared somewhere in their brains. They could dig it out later. “I suppose you left your Vulcan artifacts to your people.”

“No. Those I left to you with the provision you might donate them if you so desired.” Jim was shocked and deeply honored. Real artifacts from old Vulcan were so amazingly rare now the Vulcans were almost illogically protective.

“I … thank you,” Jim said, uncertain how else to express himself.

Spock's fingers brushed against the back of Jim's hand before retreating back to his flatware.

Jim looked down at his half empty plate and found he was no longer hungry. Rather, he wanted to follow up on all those touches. “I'm done,” he said, pushing the plate away. “Guess I'll see you in bed when you're ready.” He stood and stepped away from the table, but before he could get away Spock stood as well.

“My main bequest was in the matter of these,” Spock said. From a shelf by the table he picked up a long container. Opening it, he retrieved a spray of large white feathers with green shafts.

“Those are from your wings,” Jim said. His hand came up of its own volition and brushed against the soft plumage, a shiver running down his spine as he remembered the sensations he had felt the last time he had touched such feathers.

“That is correct,” Spock said. “Dr. McCoy collected these for me and stored them here for safety. Some are intended for scientific study. One should go to Ambassador Selek and another to our father.”

“Awfully sentimental for a Vulcan,” Jim couldn't help but comment.

“I blame the k'oh-nar,” Spock replied. “This one is for you.” He plucked one feather from the bunch and held it out to Jim

The thrill of desire was definitely not limited to Jim this time when he reached out to touch the proffered feather. “Any intended purpose in this gift?” Jim asked playfully.

“A sentimental gesture,” Spock said.

“Is it?” Jim asked. He reached out and trailed the feather down Spock's hand from wrist to finger tips. They both gasped together as the sensation bounced between them. “Shit,” Jim hissed.

“Colloquially stated, but I agree with the sentiment,” Spock said, gasping again when Jim repeated the motion.

Jim looked at his telsu and smirked. “Come here, you,” he said, taking a step back and crooking a finger in invitation. “I want to see what happens when I apply this feather somewhere else.”  


[Chapter 14](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81142.html)


	14. Feathered Frenzy : Chapter 14

[Master Post](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/81195.html)

[Chapter 13](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/80757.html)

“Everyone make it all right? Transporters didn't leave anything behind? Add anything unexpected?” Jim joked as the second group arrived by transporter. Someone down here liked them because, despite the reports that no one was allowed to transport into the city, the coordinates the Enterprise had been sent put the invitees practically on the steps of the great hall where the investiture ceremony was in progress.

“Transport to and from Delgasian IV has been show safe for fifty point three years,” Spock said, but Jim could tell it was the half-Vulcan's way of teasing him.

A few of the others, the senior officers who'd stuck with the Enterprise after the battle with the Narada cracked a smile over Spock's new sense of humor. Uhura, unfortunately but not unexpectedly, did not. She had been perfectly professional on duty but was still pointedly snubbing the captain and his first officer while off duty. Jim hoped they could find a way to help her get over it before he lost the best communications officer in the fleet.

“Enough flirting, you two,” Bones snapped, inciting chuckles. “We have business to attend to.”

“Excellent point, Doc,” Jim chirped. They had made good time and should be able to see the last few hours of the ceremony, especially since they had been allowed to shave the two hours of travel from the usual transporter point to the great hall. With a bounce in his step, he led his crew to the intricately carved, two story doors that formed the entrance of the Delgasian ceremonial hall.

The six native guards stopped them at the door. They were humanoid with dark, craggy skin and almost canine features. Each carried a heavy spear and wore the local equivalent of plate mail. “By what authority do you approach this sacred place?” one guard intoned as they all pointed their spears at the Enterprise crew.

“We come at the request of your Dergin,” Jim replied. His heart beat hard in his chest. He was pretty sure they'd let him in, but it was a tricky matter in Delgasian tradition. Technically, he had to make his arguments for being late to the Dergin, but the Dergin wasn't quite in control yet.

“You are late,” another guard snapped.

“For the sake of my desh't'en, it could not be helped,” Jim replied politely. Somehow that was enough. The guards stepped back and the doors opened.

Inside was a hall reminiscent of the old cathedrals of Earth, except instead of angels and saints the carvings and windows showed warriors and old battles. The nave was full of natives as well as representatives of dozens of cultures. At the far end of the open space was someone in robes declaiming the duties of the Dergin.

Spock, as the tallest of their party, led the way to the other Federation representatives. There was space for their entire party near the front of the nave, to Jim's relief. That position was one of respect towards the Federation, but it would not have been unreasonable for the Delgasians to reassess the seating after the Enterprise didn't show up.

This part of the ceremony was fairly dull, the fun stuff like ritual combat having taken place days earlier, so Jim just listened with half an ear while he looked around. The guards that stood between the ritual area and the observers had the mastered a blank expression and stiff posture reminiscent of pictures of the guards around Buckingham Palace back in the days of the British monarchy. All except the one right in front of Jim, who was looking directly at the captain instead of off into space. Jim wasn't sure just what he'd done to deserve the attention, but he did his best to ignore it for now.

Beyond the guards was the Delgasian declaiming the Dergin's duties. His robes proclaimed him to be … eh, Jim didn't remember the correct title, but it translated to some kind of warrior priest. Behind him was the Dergin, or rather the being who was almost the Dergin, would be in another one point seven three hours if everything continued on schedule.

Damn, Spock really was rubbing off on him.

Jim studied the man who would lead a planet and found himself under matching scrutiny. There was an intriguing degree of curiosity and challenge in those eyes, and Jim was never one to step down from a challenge. None of the reports had said anything about Delgasian's being telepathic, so Jim met the future Dergin's eyes and refused to back down. The Dergin did the same.

This stalemate might have lasted the rest of the day if not for the last phase of the ceremony. A real bruiser of a Delsgasian stepped forward holding a weapon that reminded Jim of an old European halibard, a long staff and a big blade on the end. The Delgasian swept the weapon out to one side, then swung hard for the Dergin's neck.

Jim only caught the motion from the corner of his eyes as he refused to look away first. And he won. The Dergin looked away first, but only once the blade had stopped after just creasing his neck. Red blood began to trickle down his robes as he turned slightly to look at his attacker, and smiled.

In Delgasian society, warriors held the highest rank, and only the strongest and most fearless could lead, according to tradition. In the past, if a potential Dergin had flinched at this point in the ceremony, the attacking Delgasian was supposed to continue the swing and take the failure's head off. Jim wasn't positive they'd still do that today, but it seemed he wouldn't have to find out today. The Dergin had held his ground and earned his rank.

A medic of some kind came out as the blade was pulled back, staunching the wound and slathering it with some kind of black paste. The paste was designed to prevent infection but would leave a scar, the mark of a Dergin. A faint tightening of this Dergin's features was the only sign of how much the procedure stung.

And that was it. The ceremony was over. Now the Dergin would meet with the representatives in the courtyard outside the great hall, and the true political maneuvering would begin.

Jim filed out with the rest of the observers, wondering just when he'd be called up to meet the Dergin. No offworlder had ever been able to figure out how the order was chosen, though some pretty good correlations had been made between the order and how much time a person spent with the Dergin at the receptions after each day's ceremonies over the previous days. Maybe. The Delgasians weren't telling. But since Jim hadn't even been here the previous days, chances were he and his crew were at the bottom of the list.

Which meant he was fair game when Captains Avery and Cho cornered him just outside the great hall doors.

“What the hell happened, Kirk?” Avery snapped.

“We've been playing a pretty dance all these days,” Cho added. “You were the one the Delgasians requested. We've been stuck making excuses for your tardiness.”

“Didn't Starfleet get in touch?” Jim asked. “We had a medical emergency. The Delgasians should have been informed.”

Avery looked at Cho. “Might explain the pointedness of a few questions,” he said.

“Maybe,” Cho conceded. “But if they were told, they never told us, and Starfleet sure didn't.”

“I wish I could help,” Jim said in a conciliatory tone. “I really do. But I did what I had to do.”

“Did what you had to do?” Cho snapped. “What you had to do was be here, proving what great warriors the Federation has. The only reason Starfleet gave you a ship was pressure from the Federation council.”

Jim hid a wince. He'd heard that rumor before, and it was probably partly true. He was way too young and inexperienced to have been given a ship, especially _that_ ship. But he had hoped that as he showed just what he and his crew could do, the rumor would go away.

Jim wanted to snap back at them, to throw a punch, but he resisted. He'd like to think he resisted because he was becoming more mature than that, but it was really because he could sense Spock approaching and he knew how disappointed his first officer would be if he started a fight already. So he glared, and a moment later Spock and a Delgasian guard appeared at his shoulder.

“The Dergin wishes to see you, Captain,” Spock said.

Jim didn't hide his surprise but quickly covered it. “Very well, Mr. Spock,” Jim said. He nodded to the other captains. “Gentlemen ...”

Spock led the way to the far side of the courtyard where the Dergin held court. Jim was glad to see his crew standing just beyond the guards that cordoned off the greeting area.

“Us netting a spot so high up the food chain should give the cultural experts a headache,” Jim joked.

“I am not certain I am correctly interpreting your colloquialism, but I believe that is an accurate assessment. Based on previous observation, as the last to arrive we should not be the first summoned to greet the new Dergin,” Spock replied.

Jim's brow furrowed and his head jerked in surprise. “First?” he squeaked.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, while the others nodded.

“Huh,” Jim muttered, scratching the side of his head. “Big headache then … well, might as well get it over with.” Jim stepped forward through the gap between two guards, Spock at his left shoulder, Bones at his right, and the rest of the crew in formation behind them.

Stopping approximately five steps from the Dergin, at a mark in the stone of the courtyard, Jim stopped, pressed his left palm to the right side of his chest, and bowed slightly. Too deep a bow implied Jim was a subordinate, but too shallow implied he was superior. He and Spock had spent several hours arguing over the right angle to hit.

The Dergin must have approved because he looked pleased when Jim straightened, at least for a moment. His face quickly stiffened, and he asked, “You are Captain of the Enterprise?”

“Captain James T. Kirk,” Jim said formally.

“So tell me, Captain, why did you choose to avoid most of our ceremonies, you who we so specifically invited?”

“Forgive us, honored Dergin,” Jim said. “It was no choice but rather what had to be done. My desh't'en was at risk. Had we not journeyed to his people immediately, he would have died.” He ignored the gasp from Uhura. He expected she'd be the only one to understand what Jim was implying.

The Dergin's eye ridge rose in an almost human expression of disbelief. “For two generations, Federation negotiators have been telling us that humans have no equivalent relationship to our desh't'en.”

“Humans do not,” Jim agreed, “but Vulcans do.” He held out his left hand, first two fingers extended and was hit with the buzz of energy he still wasn't used to when Spock's fingers crossed his. “May I present my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Spock?”

“The one who traveled aboard the Narada with you?” the Dergin asked eagerly.

“I could not have defeated Nero without him,” Jim said fondly. Bones coughed, probably covering a chuckle.

“And you claim he is your desh't'en?”

“As I understand, your desh't'en is the warrior who fights by your side, the one closer than blood, with whom you share your whole life, from battle to procreation,” Jim said.

“A simplistic interpretation, but you do show a measure of understanding,” the Dergin said. “But if your people have this understanding, why have your negotiators insisted there is no similar relationship in Federation races?”

“For Vulcans, the concept of t'hy'la is very private and rarely discussed with outsiders,” Spock replied. Jim really hoped that the Dergin believed them, or else Spock speaking was going to get them into trouble. Only as desh't'en to Jim did Spock have the rank to speak. “However, as Vulcans are no longer a warrior race it is possible that those who visited your planet may have known and not made the connection.”

“Explain,” the Dergin commanded.

“Vulcans stepped away from the way of the warrior millennia ago, choosing the path of logic over emotion. It saved our race from destroying ourselves, but many of our traditions and sacred concepts descend from those older days. T'hy'la is now defined as one closer than family, a sibling of mind and soul, closer than a lover though lover they may be. In those days where warriors ruled, t'hy'la was also the warrior who you trusted at your back and with whom you shared all aspects of your life.”

“By which definition do you claim Captain Kirk as your t'hy'la?” the Dergin asked, mangling the pronunciation of the Vulcan word, but not beyond comprehension.

“Both,” Spock replied simply, turning to look at Jim.

“We have guarded each other in battle, and there is none I trust more at my back,” Jim said, catching Spock's eye and smiling slightly. “He is my friend, my lover, my husband. In Federation Standard there is no word to truly describe our relationship.”

Whatever the Dergin was looking for, apparently he saw it, or heard it. “Desh't'en you are. You will remain until the end of the week so we can prepare a proper ceremony,” he said, looking pleased. “Your Federation will permit this as it will improve the ties between my people and your Federation. Perhaps I will not even listen to the Klingon representatives.”

Jim didn't let his jaw hit the floor, really, though he had a feeling a few of the jaws behind him were hanging loose. “We would be honored.”

“Good,” the Dergin said loudly, slapping Jim on the shoulder. Delgasians were noticeably stronger than humans, so Jim would have fallen over if Spock had not caught him. “Now, introduce me to your fellow warriors. I am most interested to meet the heroes of the battle over Earth.”

~o0o~

Spock had believed that his t'hy'la had correctly interpreted the Delgasian society when he said they would forgive the delay in arrival because it was to save Spock's life. He had not expected, however, that they would be as welcomed as they were. The Dergin gave Jim and Spock permission to call him by his given name, though it was unpronounceable to humans, and insisted they remain with him while he greeted the representatives.

The surprise and disbelief on the faces of the other Starfleet captains was almost enough to elicit the emotion of pleasure on the part of Spock. The anger of the Klingons was even more appealing. It would appear that the Federation had won this battle. For now.

After the last delegate had been greeted, the Dergin invited the Enterprise crew to a private dinner. “After all, we must plan your bonding ceremony,” he said.

“We do not require anything complex,” Spock informed him. “Our bond is recognized by the Vulcan elders on Shi'masu as well as Starfleet.”

“Ah, but if you do not have a proper ceremony how will you attract females to carry on your bloodlines?” the Dergin asked. “We cannot permit the bloodlines of such fine warriors to end. The Federation needs such as you.”

They had collected several members of the crew. Spock could not miss the pained look in Nyota's eyes, and knew there was nothing he could do about this but give her time. In contrast, Bones broke into a coughing laugh.

“God, just what we need, a whole passel of mini Kirks,” Bones muttered to Scotty.

“Actually, Spock's family has already helped us make some arrangements,” Jim replied, doing his best to ignore Bone's loud exclamation of, “What?”

Jim had been correct, the doctor's reaction was most fascinating.  



End file.
